Barriers Within
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: With the help of a nearby monastery, the Alexandrians have defeated the Saviors, and life is becoming settled. But a supply run to Cabela's is about to kick off a series of events that will place Alexandria in peril and have Daryl and Carol fighting for each other. Caryl-centric with some Richonne and an ensemble cast.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an edited rewrite of my first ever TWD fic, "Playing House." I initially wrote this story between seasons, so it's **cannon through season 6 and then AU from there.** In this version, Negan beats Aaron to death (not Glenn and Abraham), and the attack is stopped by a third party. Eugene never left Alexandria, and Morgan brought Carol back before she made it to the Kingdom.

[*]

 _" **Your task is not to seek for love,  
**_ _ **but merely to seek and find  
all **__**the barriers within yourself  
**_ _ **that you have built against it."  
**_ _ **\- Rumi**_

[*]

Carol eased down onto the front steps where Daryl sat skinning a squirrel. "How's the shoulder?" she asked. "Giving you any pain?"

Daryl's shoulder was fine. It was his ego that was still bruised. He'd lost too much blood from the gunshot wound, and when Negan started beating Aaron with that baseball bat, Daryl had fainted. Like a goddamn girl. He awoke later to the sound of gunshots, rolled on his back, and saw a monk dropping out of a tree with a longbow in one hand and a sharpened crucifix in the other. He thought he was dreaming when that monk drove the crucifix straight into Negan's eye while screaming, "Where is she?"

There were other monks, some with guns, and three with Medieval-looking weapons: a broadsword, a mace, and a battle axe. They were killing Saviors right and left and then tossing guns to Rick and the others. The Alexandrians had been told there were other camps, but they hadn't known about the monastery twenty miles southwest, or that Negan had abducted their doctor, Nadia Yenin, after beating her brother, a monk, to death. Dr. Yenin saved Maggie and the baby inside her. She saved Daryl too. Aaron she couldn't save.

Rick formed an alliance with the monks, and, together, they put an end to the Saviors. The monastery was burned down during the war. Afterwards, the remnants of the monastery camp – eight monks, six women, and three children - moved to Alexandria. The monastery's underground storage cellar had escaped the fire, and so the refugees brought with them canned food, bags of yeast, wheat, and flour, and sixty gallons of beer the monks had brewed themselves.

Alexandria's houses were full now. There'd been some redistribution of room assignments, and Daryl was in a house with Carol, two of the monks, and the doctor they'd rescued. Nadia did her job well, but she was jumpy if you tried to touch her – not that Daryl had, but he'd seen Brother Lawrence try it once, in a comforting way.

"Shoulder's fine," Daryl answered. He flayed the back of the squirrel in one long stroke and tossed the pelt to the ground before turning the half-skinned thing over. "You?"

Morgan had found Carol alone on the highway and had talked her into returning to Alexandria, and she'd laid her crisis of conscience aside long enough to fight in the war. After it was over, for a while, none of them had stopped to feel any of it. They'd pressed on. But it had been weeks with no threat, other than a few stray walkers and some holes in the defenses that had to be patched. They'd had time to let it all settle. "I didn't get shot."

Daryl muttered, "Meant your man." Tobin had died in the war.

"You can't get too attached to anyone in this world." Daryl couldn't quite make out the faint sound in her voice. There was a hitch, but it didn't sound quite like grief. "Besides, I'm not the only one who lost someone. You lost Aaron."

"I ain't never swung that way, you know."

"He was your _friend_ , Daryl."

"Yeah," he muttered. And Aaron's loss hurt more than Daryl wanted to admit. He'd sat at that man's dinner table. He'd walked the woods side by side with him. They'd dreamed of breaking a horse together.

After the war with the Saviors, nine more people were buried in Alexandria's growing cemetery – four monks, four of the original inhabitants of Alexandria, including Tobin, and one of the family – Rosita. Rosita had died saving Abraham. Daryl wondered what Abraham thought of that. He'd just walked away from that woman. Daryl couldn't imagine doing something like that if he had a woman who loved him. Did Abraham have any idea how goddamn rare a woman's love and loyalty was? Daryl wasn't even sure his own mother had loved him.

After all those graves were covered, the monks had chanted a dirge, deep-voiced and solemn, and it had pissed Daryl off, the way that haunting, sorrowful sound made him want to cry. He doubted that anyone would sing for him when his time came. "But y'all were _together_ ," he reminded Carol. Is this how she would act when _he_ died? With nothing but a shrug? They weren't together, not like that, he knew, but…she was _something_ to him. And he thought maybe he was _something_ to her too.

"Tobin and I were playing house," she said. "And for a while…it felt good."

Daryl never understood what Carol had seen in that man. Tobin treated her well enough, he guessed, which was all that mattered to him. But Tobin was no match for Carol. He was a match for the woman Carol sometimes _pretended_ to be.

Daryl dropped the skinned squirrel on the porch. "You gonna take that and make us a stew?"

"Sure, Pookie," she said, pursing her lips into that fake smile that annoyed the shit out of him, even while it made him want to laugh. He didn't laugh, though. He pressed his lips into a stern line and pulled himself up into a standing position. She looked up and asked him, "Are you going to set the table?"

"I hunt. I skin. Ain't settin' no table." He held out his hand to her.

"Guess I'll ask Brother Lawrence," she said, sliding her hand into his and pulling herself up. Her hand was somehow soft and calloused all at once - a worker's hand, a killer's hand, but with a woman's skin. "I can watch him bend over the table while he sets it," she said. "He does have a nice ass."

"Pffft."

Carol smirked. "Brother What-a-waste. Still honoring his vow of celibacy."

Daryl plucked up the skinned squirrel and grunted. "Wish he'd taken a vow of silence."

He wished it even more when they were all at the dinner table later. Brother Stephen was busy eating, but Brother Lawrence was as chatty as ever. The doctor, Nadia, was silent and barely eating. She'd lost some weight since they'd rescued her. Daryl had seen Brother Lawrence urging her to eat on more than one occasion.

"I can show you how to use the longbow, Daryl," Brother Lawrence was saying. He was always talking to Daryl about how much better the longbow was than the crossbow, like he was comparing dicks. "We've got that range set up now. I'm training Carl, some of the other boys and men. I'm surprise you've managed to keep that crossbow in shape as long as you have, without a decent press. Where did you even find replacement strings?"

Daryl slurped his stew off his spoon. "Places."

"The thing about the longbow," Brother Lawrence continued, "is that it's easier to maintain. And, as I told you before, it's a more effective weapon. Did you know, in the Battle of Agincourt, when the English forces -"

" – that world don't matter," Daryl interrupted him. "That world's gone."

"Au contraire," Brother Lawrence said. "That world's _back._ "

Daryl sipped his beer. He had to admit, it wasn't bad, this batch the monks had brewed. He wondered if they could set up another brewery here in Alexandria when they ran out. "Why do you still wear that damn hassock?"

Carol snorted. "Cassock. It's called a cassock."

Daryl glowered.

"It's more practical than you might imagine in a medieval type military environment," Brother Lawrence answered. "You know, the origin of clerical clothing is tied to – "

"- Don't wanna know," Daryl interrupted him. "And I already know how to use a longbow just fine."

"Well, what are you bringing when you and I go on our supply run tomorrow?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Are you bringing that inefficient, modern crossbow of yours?"

"Bringing Carol," Daryl insisted. "Ain't bringing you."

"Rick said – "

"- Rick will be fine with the change," Carol assured the monk.

"It's turning to winter," Brother Lawrence warned them. "Dress warm. Virginia winters aren't like Georgia winters."

Daryl grunted. He hated the way Brother Lawrence was always telling him shit he already knew. He knew it was cold. He could feel it already. Hell, he'd even put on a button-down flannel shirt over his wife beater. Carol had called him "handsome," and then laughed, like he was puppy who'd just been forced into a fuzzy sweater.

"You sure you don't want to take me?" Brother Lawrence asked. "I know where that Cabela's is."

"Draw me a map," Daryl grumbled. He wasn't even sure they should bother with the Cabela's. "Probably been picked over by now anyhow."

"Maybe not the storage rooms," the doctor suggested. They all looked at her with surprise. Nadia said fewer words than Daryl, usually, unless she was diagnosing you or telling you how to stop the bleeding. "I want to go with you."

"No," Carol told her. "We're not letting our doctor leave the gates. You're too valuable."

"So I'm a prisoner here, too?" she asked. "Just as I was with Negan?"

"Nothing like that," Brother Lawrence said softly. "These are good people."

"Negan thought he was good people too," Nadia said. "We all do what we have to, don't we, for our own people?"

Carol's eyes fell into her soup bowl. She'd killed seven Saviors in the war.

"We don't all do it the same way," Daryl said quietly, willing Carol to raise her eyes to his, to see her own goodness reflected in them.

"No we don't," Brother Lawrence agreed. "Some of us trade rather than extort. Some of us woo rather than rape. It's not the same. We're not all the same. The world is not all one shade of black."

Nadia pushed her bowl away and stood. "I'm going back to the infirmary. I have things to do."

As Brother Lawrence watched her go his hazel eyes flickered with worry and quiet anger.

[*]

Brother Lawrence brought Carol the last bowl and set it by the sink. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He had broad, muscular shoulders, but also a bit of a beer gut, and some of the Alexandrians had taken to calling him _Friar Tuck_ , which he took in good humor. "Nadia hardly talks since we rescued her. I wish someone would talk to her."

Carol turned off the water and rested her hand on the stainless steel outer rim of the sink. "If you think someone should talk to her, shouldn't it be you?"

Brother Lawrence looked out the window. Carol followed his gaze and saw a few large, fluffy, white snowflakes wind their way down, a lighter shade against the darkening sky. "She can't seem to stand me anymore," he said. "Or any man who might want to...be near her." He sighed. "You should take me with you tomorrow. I know where I'm going."

"You're pretty restless for a monk. How did you stay cloistered all those years?"

"I didn't. I went out doing service work all the time. Will you take me along?" he asked.

"I'll talk to Daryl about it."

[*]

Daryl needed to walk. He didn't know where. He never knew where. He didn't even think about the fact that he was going in the same direction as the doctor until she slowed, turned, and cast him a suspicious glance.

He wanted to bark, "Hell you lookin' at?" but he didn't. He guessed she had reason to be on edge. Maybe she thought he was following her. For some reason, he found himself saying, "You didn't eat much."

"Squirrel's not my thing."

She had a slight accent. Daryl didn't know what it was. He didn't much care. Merle had joined the Aryan Nation for a while, preached to Daryl all sorts of racist shit, but he'd never understood why anyone cared about where a person was from or what he sounded like or looked like. There were only two kinds of people in this world: the ones you could half trust, and the ones you couldn't trust at all.

Daryl had no idea what Nadia's background was, with that skin that was dark but not quite black, and the thick lashes, and the brooding brown eyes, and a body that probably used to be voluptuous but was beginning to waste away. She'd come into the monastery after everything went to shit because her brother – her _biological_ brother – lived there. But he was beaten to death by Negan, and she was taken. Negan had assumed the monks would submit and start turning over half of their beer and crops. He'd been wrong, obviously.

Daryl fell in step beside the doctor. "Listen," he muttered. "Never said thanks. For getting the bullet out. Stoppin' the bleeding. The transfusion. Ya don't expect yer doc to give you her own blood."

"That is the virtue of being a universal donor in a world of murders, I suppose." She brushed a soft flake of snow from her shoulder-length black hair. "And we are all murders now."

"Nah."

"Brother Lawrence used to urge restraint and charity in the monastery's dealings with all men. He used to preach, _Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, I will repay._ But do you know what he said to me the night he brought me back to the monastery? He said… _I wish I had killed Negan more slowly_."

Daryl looked down at the toe of his boot. It was black from old blood stains.

"Let me go on this run," she said. "We need more medicines. I know where they are. You do not."

He looked up again. "Then draw us a map and make us a list. Carol's right. You don't let your doctor out your gates." That was why Rick and Glen had been trying to bring Maggie to Jesus's camp after all, instead of trying to send for the doctor. It was why he should _never_ have taken Denise on that run. Doctors were more valuable than guns. "Why you want to go so bad anyhow?"

"Have you ever been to a zoo?" Nadia asked.

"My folks weren't exactly the type to take us."

She gestured about Alexandria, her delicate fingers fluttering. "This is like one of those natural habitats. It's not a cage exactly. But it's a poor imitation of something real. And the animals know they aren't free. But they're also not going to bite the hand that feeds them."

Over her shoulder, Daryl spied Rick approaching. He slowed to a stop while Nadia walked on. Rick turned to look at her as she passed, and then came to a stop in front of Daryl. The sun had set, but porch lights still cast a dim glow on the street. The snow fell intermittently, not quite sticking to anything, but Daryl could feel it melt into his hair.

"How's she doing?" Rick asked Daryl. "She looks like she lost a lot of weight."

"Not eating much."

"She's our doctor. We've got to keep her alive."

"Ain't my job. Ain't no shrink."

Rick fished in his jeans pocket and handed him a piece of folded paper. Daryl opened it and read the list. "That last one's just if you happen to see it," Rick said. "Michonne likes it."

"85%?" Daryl asked. "Pretty damn specific."

"Or 75%. She just…she likes her chocolate dark." Rick smiled. "So do I."

Daryl groaned.

"Shouldn't quit my day job and become a stand up?" Rick asked. "Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Look, I ain't losing a shitload of supplies again because some girl likes something."

"I know. Just, if you happen to see it and you don't have to break a vending machine to get it," Rick said.

Daryl tucked the list in his front shirt pocket. "You're already gettin' laid. Hell you need chocolates for?"

"Daryl, sometimes a man gives a woman gifts just because he _likes_ her. Not to get laid. Haven't you ever done that?"

He'd given Carol a Cherokee rose once. That certainly wasn't to get laid. It was because he couldn't stand to see her pain. "Dunno."

"Well, try it some time."

Daryl's hands were cold. He should have worn his leather jacket. He could see his breath making clouds in the air. "Chocolate," he muttered. "Ridiculous."

"Are you telling me you wouldn't bring something back for Carol, if you happened to see something she liked?" Risk asked him.

"Carol's goin' with me."

"Good. I've been saying groups of three are safer. We can't keep making the same stupid mistakes."

"Just Carol," Daryl insisted.

"Brother Lawrence knows that part of Virginia a hell of a lot better than any of us do. He's done runs from the monastery around there."

"He never shuts up. "

Rick chuckled. "I've noticed that. But I really think you should take him along."

"He's worse than Eugene."

"You can handle it. Take some of those orange ear plugs."

"Rick, man, don't make me take him."

Rick shook his head. "I can't _make_ you do anything. But I'm strongly advising it." He clapped Daryl's shoulder. "Come back alive."

"Well I sure ain't comin' back dead. Carol'll see to that." She was maybe going to have to shoot him one day. Or him her. That last one he didn't want to think about. Carol was right. You couldn't let yourself get too close to anyone in this world. And he was already too close to her.

Daryl walked the perimeter of Alexandria for a while, looked up at the scaffolding where Abraham and Sasha stood half watching, half flirting. They noticed him and nodded down. He nodded back. They turned and lowered their heads close to one another, laughed, and paced in separate directions, looking over the wall.

Daryl walked to the cemetery, fished in his pocket, and lay a small cross on Rosita's grave. Seeing Abraham laughing like that made him want to do it. Brother Lawrence had given him this cross, pressed it in his palm when he was lying recovering from his gunshot wound on a cot in that monk's cell. Brother Lawrence had said some prayer, too. Daryl hadn't heard much of it, but he'd heard enough to suspect the monk believed he was dying. He hadn't died. Maybe it would be better if he had.

He wasn't feeling sorry for himself. He didn't have time for that self-pity shit. But...if he was being honest? He still blamed himself for getting captured and shot, for not being the one to save his own people. Maybe that's why he really didn't want Brother Lawrence along for the ride. The man reminded him of his own failure.

He paced the ten steps to Aaron's grave next. He put a hand on the cross that marked it. "Thanks for the spaghetti," he said, and turned and made his way home.

Home.

 _This is our home_ , Carol had told him once, when he'd returned to that prison cell, their third long-term camp in a long line of stops along the way to nowhere in particular. He'd called it a tomb back then, but he hadn't entirely meant it. No place was really a tomb if Carol was there.


	2. Chapter 2

Rick mounted the stairs of his house, which he shared with Michonne, Carl, and Judith alone. No refugees from the monastery had been forced upon them. Sometimes it paid to be the leader. When he entered the living room, Michonne asked from the couch, "Did you give Daryl the list?"

Rick slunk down next to her and stretched an arm out behind her shoulders. He still couldn't quite believe they were together, that she was in his bed. He didn't know where Michonne thought this relationship was headed, and he was half afraid to ask. Every moment of it felt exciting and precarious, and yet somehow perfectly _right_. "Mhmhm. Might have added a few things, too."

Michonne sunk against him like a sleek kitten curling up to its owner. "Well, with Carol on this trip, Daryl might come back with more supplies. No boys will be boys bullshit this time, hmmm?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It was Jesus's fault that truck ended up in the water, you know."

Michonne chuckled.

He smiled down at her. That was the night they first came together, the start of all _this_ – whatever this was to be. Then the war had put their explorations on hiatus, and now…here they were, slowly sinking into something like an unspoken marriage.

The fireplace crackled warmly in front of them. Rick felt happy and yet strangely unsettled. Half of him wanted to ease into the peace that seemed to have descended over Alexandria, to build a new world, maybe even to ask Michonne to marry him, but the other half was on constant edge, always ready for the next fight, afraid to hope too much, want too much, ask too much. The Saviors were gone, the walkers were under control, but he had once thought the prison was at peace, too. He'd sowed, but he'd never reaped. "Do you think we can actually stay settled here?"

"One day at a time," Michonne replied. "One day at a time."

[*]

Brother Stephen was mopping the kitchen floor when Daryl returned. That lithe, little monk must have an addiction to cleaning. "Where's Carol?"

"Knocking boots with Brother Lawrence," Brother Stephen answered.

"What?" Daryl barked.

When Brother Stephen smiled, only the left half of his mouth curved, due to nerve damage of some kind, so whenever he was amused, he appeared to be in pain. "Literally. On the back porch."

Daryl made his way out back. Brother Lawrence was in a rocking chair and, sure enough, physically knocking a pair of boots together to beat off the mud. Carol sat beside him, rubbing at the blood stains on hers, as if they could ever go away.

Daryl shot the monk a _get lost_ gaze. Brother Lawrence rose. "You have a good night, Carol," he said and made his way inside.

Daryl slid into the rocking chair the man had vacated. "Why ya bothering with that? Just gonna get bloody on the run."

"Keeping them polished preserves them longer."

"Maybe we can pick up some new ones at that Cabela's." He rubbed his toe into the wooden plank of the porch. "But I kinda like this pair. Broken in good."

"You're not a man who welcomes change," she agreed as she put the brush down and pulled her boots back on. "Brother Lawrence wants to come with us."

"Rick wants him to come, too," Daryl said.

"Then I guess we bring him."

"Don't wanna."

Carol stood. "You have to learn to play nice with others, Pookie."

"Would you quit calling me that?"

"Not as long as it annoys you." She smiled lightly, opened the door, and went inside.

He stayed on the porch for a while longer, looking at the stars. When he came in, the house was quiet. Everyone seemed to have retreated to their bedrooms, except Brother Lawrence, who was sitting on the couch in the living room, with a single lamp glowing on the end table beside him. He was staring listlessly at the big screen television over the mantle, a television that had probably never been used. This house had been the model, back when people still had plans and dreams.

Daryl plopped down beside him, the leather of the couch cushions squeaking beneath his sudden weight. He didn't want to talk, but he wanted some of the monk's beer. He knew the man had a secret stash in his bedroom, some he hadn't surrendered to the communal pantry. "Hell you doin'?" Daryl asked. It was eerie, the way he was looking trance-like at that useless TV.

The monk shook his head roughly and then looked away from the blank television. "Watching Nascar," he said.

Daryl didn't want to laugh. But he did.

"I miss Nascar something awful," Brother Lawrence told him.

"Like hell you do. Ain't never watched Nascar a day in your life."

"Not once I took orders, no. No T.V. in the monastery. But before. All the time."

"Like hell," Daryl repeated.

"I was a huge Darrell Waltrip fan."

"No shit? Named after 'em. Except my dumb ass daddy got the spellin' wrong."

"He debuted six years after I was born." That would put the monk in his early 50s, which had been Daryl's guess, based on his graying black hair.

"Got any more of that beer stashed away?" Daryl asked.

"And here I thought you didn't like me," Brother Lawrence said with a smile.

"Don't wanna be yer drinkin' buddy, Just want to take it up to my room." He'd had a lot of trouble sleeping ever since he'd passed out from that gunshot wound.

Brother Lawrence sighed. "I could possibly get you a pint. But first, let me tell you about _Toxophilus."_

"'Bout what?"

 _"_ It's a book by Roger Ascham, dedicated to King Henry VIII. It was the first book ever published on the longbow, in London, in 15 – "

"- Never mind." Daryl stood and headed for the stairs. His foot on the first one, he turned back. "Comin' with us tomorrow. But one word about longbows – _one word_ – and yer out on your ass on the road. Don't care where we are."

When he reached the upstairs landing, Carol, wrapped only in a towel, stepped out of the hall bathroom. He averted his gaze to the carpet.

"Hey," she said. "You talk to Brother Lawrence?"

"Mhmmm," he murmured. "He's coming with."

"Good. I guess. I was kind of hoping for a Bonnie and Clyde thing with you, but, hey, he could be useful."

Daryl chuckled and looked up, skimming quickly over where the towel clung to her chest. "I just need to get out this place for a while."

She nodded. "So do I."

He blinked. She'd done something weird to her hair. Dyed it or some shit. He didn't comment. He just muttered, "'Nite," and turned down the hall.

 **[*]**

"Sexy choice," Carol teased as she swung her backpack into the hatch of the green Outback, one of three cars the monks had brought with them after vacating the burned-out monastery. "Never pegged you as a station wagon man."

Daryl scraped at the ice on the windshield. He looked cold. Carol had given him a black knit cap to wear, but he'd said it made him look like an idiot and shoved it in the pocket of his leather jacket. "We need room for supplies if we find any."

"And something with all-wheel drive in case it snows harder," she agreed. "And something a little more fuel efficient than a pick-up. But I'm still going to laugh at you when you drive this thing."

"Maybe I'll make you drive."

"Oh, no," she told him. "That's man's work." She reached for her handgun in the holster attached to her black belt, beneath her brown suede jacket. "Duck."

"What?" he asked.

She yanked out the handgun.

"Oh." He bent his head down and she shot the approaching walker behind him. The gun, which had a silencer she'd picked up from one of the Saviors, made only a slight phooshing sound.

"Waste of a bullet," Daryl told her.

"He was too close and you were busy with the ice scraper."

"Could of just told me. Got a knife on me."

"You're welcome," Carol said, shaking her head and coming to the front passenger's side. "I call shotgun."

"Where's that damn monk?"

"You summoned?" asked Brother Lawrence, approaching from the gate. He held a map in his left hand, and the longbow and quiver of arrows was strapped to his back. A knife was lodged beneath the brown rope that cinched the monk's cassock on one side, and a handgun on the other. His cowl was pulled up over his head to shield against the cold.

"Ain't nobody bringing a rifle?" Daryl asked.

Carol had a .45 handgun on her left hip, and a knife strapped on her right. "I put an AR-15 in the back," she told him as she slid into the front seat and closed the door.

Daryl clamored inside the Outback, and Brother Lawrence slid into the back seat. After Daryl started driving, he kept glancing at her curiously, and Carol could tell he was noticing her hair. She'd grown it out slightly over the past two months, and last night she'd dyed it auburn with a kit she'd found under the bathroom sink. She had no idea how long it had been there, but, on a whim, she'd used it. "You like it?" she asked.

"You look ridiculous," Daryl said, which she knew was just his way of saying - you don't look yourself.

"I was going for something more feminine," she told him. "I'm tired of people asking me if I'm a lesbian."

"You look beautiful, Carol," Brother Lawrence said from the backseat.

"She looked just fine before," Daryl grumbled.

"She did have that sexy Jamie Lee Curtis thing going for her," Brother Lawrence mused.

"You think Jamie Lee Curtis is sexy?" Carol asked.

"It's a unique kind of beauty. Nothing cliche about it. I, for one, would bed her in a heartbeat."

Carol chuckled. "I thought you took a vow not to bed anyone?"

"Well, I'd make an exception for Jamie Lee Curtis. How about you, Daryl? Who's your celebrity crush?"

Daryl grunted and ignored the question.

The monk leaned forward, one arm across the back of Carol's seat and the other across Daryl's, his torso in between them. "I bet you had a serious thing for Daisy Duke."

Daryl slammed on the brakes suddenly so that the monk flew back against the backseat. "Walker," Daryl muttered.

"Ten feet away," Carol said in a scolding tone. This was going to be a long drive, she thought, if Daryl kept slamming on the brakes every time the monk irritated him.

Daryl swerved to the left, maneuvered around a couple of abandoned cars, and began driving again.

Brother Lawrence once again leaned forward from the backseat. This time he held a CD in his hand, and he tapped Carol's arm with the case. "Let's have some music, shall we?"

"No." Daryl grabbed the CD out of his hand and tossed it into the backseat.

"Aww, come on, Mr. Grinch," Carol said. "Maybe I want some music."

"Not his music," Daryl said. "Rick's shit was torture enough. Ain't listenin' to Gregorian chants."

"You don't even know what he listens to." Carol put her hand back for the CD, which Brother Lawrence had reclaimed. She took the case, opened it, and inserted the CD in the player.

Creedence Clearwater Revivial's "Fortunate Son" started playing.

"This don't suck," Daryl admitted, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"I have refined tastes," the monk answered, but then the CD started skipping horribly, and Carol had to eject it.

"You got something else back there?" she asked.

"Alas, no," Brother Lawrence answered. "But I can sing for you if you like."

"Hell no," Daryl muttered.

"He actually has a beautiful voice," Carol told him. It was true. But she didn't say it because it was true. She said it to rile up Daryl. He made a disgruntled noise through his nostrils.

"If only my guitar hadn't burned in the monastery," Brother Lawrence mused. "But maybe we can find another one today or tomorrow."

"Ain't no room for guitars in this car," Daryl told him. "We're looking for medicine, guns, ammo, storage food, batteries, propane, boots. Practical shit."

"We have to feed the spirit as well as the body. Now more than ever," the monk told him. "But speaking of practical matters, you should pick up a bow press while we're at Cabela's. Of course, if you had a long – "

Daryl slammed on the breaks. Brother Lawrence flew forward against Carol's seat. Carol braced herself against the dash. "Jesus, Daryl," she muttered.

"Out. Now!" Daryl ordered.

"Oh, come now," Brother Lawrence said. "I hardly think – "

"- I warned you. One word."

Carol, who had been riding without a seat belt, now buckled herself in. She reached out and stroked the hair at the back of Daryl's head in a mock, conciliatory gesture. She wondered when he was going to cut that mane. She wondered if maybe she actually liked it that way, or if she'd preferred him in the beginning, when it was shorter. "At least give him three strikes," she said.

"He don't deserve three strikes." Daryl jerked his head away from her touch. He glared at the monk in the rearview mirror. "That's your _last_ warning." He started driving again.

[*]

Michonne mounted the platform at the front of the gate of Alexandria and told Carl he could head down, that she'd take over the watch.

"I've still got half an hour on the clock," Carl told her, his deputy's hat half titled down over the black patch on his eye.

"I know, but I saw Enid shoveling the walkway outside her house. She might need a big strong man to help."

Carl snorted. "There's hardly any snow."

"It's the thought that counts."

"I don't know," Carl said. "She blows so hot and cold with me. I don't know what to think."

Michonne gave him a pitying, closed-mouth smile. "She's playing cat and mouse, Carl, honey. So be the cat."

Carl shook his head. "Girls should just say what they mean and mean what they say. _You_ do."

"I'm one of a kind," Michonne told him.

Carl chuckled. "Yeah, my dad's pretty lucky." He half waved to her. "See you around." Carl shimmied down the ladder.

Michonne watched him disappear and then turned her eyes onto the quiet road, where only the occasional walker drifted, like an old man making his slow way up the church walkway on a Sunday morning. Just for something to do, even though it was nowhere near the gate yet, she plucked off one of the undead creatures. Her rifle, which now bore a silencer she'd taken from the Saviors, made only a slight _pew_ sound, and the walker crumpled to the lightly, snow-dusted ground. Its collapse was oddly unsatisfying, and Michonne returned to her watch with an odd, out-of-place feeling. This peace, so long desired, so earnestly won, now rested heavily on Alexandria like a blanket that might be snatched away in the coldest hour of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

In the afternoon, the supply run team hit a strip mall. It was a lot of work clearing out the CVS, and Daryl broke off two arrowheads in a couple of walkers. Brother Lawrence didn't break off any, and when he opened his mouth to comment on the fact, Daryl gave him a dirty look.

"I was just going to say," the monk told him mildly, "maybe we can get you some more arrows when we get to Cabela's."

"Act like we's goin' to the Promised Land," Daryl said. "You know it's gonna be picked over."

"I _don't_ know that. It hadn't even officially opened yet, and it was off the beaten path. I bet a lot of people didn't even know it existed yet."

"How you know 'bout it then, in that monastery of yours?"

"My nephew had applied to work there."

Daryl hadn't thought about the fact that even a monk must have had family.

Brother Lawrence answered the question he hadn't asked: "When things went bad, everyone in southern Virginia was trying to make it to D.C.. They were all thinking the government would still be functioning there. My sister and her family headed that way. I tried to persuade them to hunker down at the monastery with me instead, but they didn't want to. I don't know if they're still alive."

Much of D.C. was a smoldering mess. Daryl was pretty sure the monk's family couldn't possibly be alive. He didn't offer that opinion, of course. Instead, he leaped over the pharmacy counter and began scouring the shelves. He didn't bother to take out his list from the doctor. There were only a handful of bottles. He just shoveled it all into his open backpack.

Meanwhile, Carol collected cold and flu medicines on the other side. There wasn't much left. Brother Lawrence tossed two E.P.T. tests on the counter. "Put those in the medicine bag too."

"You knock someone up?" Carol asked him.

"You know someone's going to want one sooner or later. People are starting to build lives again."

Carol tossed bottles of aspirin and tubes of neosporin on the counter. "I just figured out I was pregnant the old-fashioned way, and that was even before all this."

Daryl eyed her warily. It was the closest she'd come to mentioning Sophia in a long time. He shoveled in the medicines and violently zipped up his backpack.

"You had kids?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Carol nodded faintly. Daryl could see the lump in her throat as she swallowed. She wasn't answering.

"She had a little girl," Daryl said. "We lost her." He nodded to Carol. "Why don't you go see if there's any batteries?"

Brother Lawrence put a hand lightly on Carol's shoulder and squeezed. "Sorry for your loss." He turned and headed toward the back of the store.

Daryl took a swing by the candy aisle. After that, he found Carol collecting the last of the batteries and a couple of cheap flashlights. He was surprised how much was left. Maybe people had gotten run off by walkers, or maybe they'd only taken what they needed for a week. No one had been planning for a settlement in the early days. He held up the Hershey's Special Dark bar he'd found. "Does this count as dark chocolate?"

"Not really," she said. "But I like it."

"Good." He handed it to her. "Take it then."

"Why do you need dark chocolate?"

"Rick wants it for Michonne."

"Why? He's already getting laid."

Daryl "Mhmm"ed.

"But _you're_ not." She held up the chocolate bar with a teasing smile. "So I guess this means you want to screw around."

"Pfffft." He shook his head. She joked about that a lot, but she didn't actually _want_ to screw around with him. Not really.

 _Did she?_

Sometimes he wondered if maybe she was only _half_ joking. But he never let himself wonder for long.

He nodded to the front window, which had been smashed in three places. Half a dozen walkers had wandered up. "Crowd's gatherin'. Better take care of that."

Daryl was reaching for his crossbow when an arrow flew into the head of the walker on the far left, then the one on the far right, and then in the middle.

"I think Larry's got it," Carol said.

More arrows flew.

"Larry?" Daryl asked her. "You two best pals now?" He walked outside and helped Brother Lawrence pull out the arrows.

They checked out a couple of more stores in the strip mall, but there was nothing worth taking. Brother Lawrence insisted on going into the used bookstore, which was inhabited by a single walker. Carol stabbed it in the head. The store had _not_ been picked over.

Slightly annoyed at the wasted stop, Daryl wandered the aisles and waited for the monk to make his selections. He found himself pausing before a shelf. He pulled out _Ender's Game_ and thumbed through it.

"You like sci-fi?" Carol asked.

"Tried to read it when I's 11." He'd been hiding from his father, who'd come home in a drunken rage. He'd crawled into the biggest cabinet with a flashlight to bide his time until the old man passed out. Merle was in juvie at the time. Daryl had hated school, but he didn't mind reading, not really, not if it was something he _wanted_ to read. It had taken him awhile to learn how – he was two years behind the other boys, but once he'd started, he'd taken off. By 5th grade, his reading ability outstripped his understanding. "Didn't really get it then. Think maybe I do now."

"What's it about?"

"They condition these kids to fight and kill for 'em. Hell, they don't even know what they're doin'." He shook his head and shoved the book back on the shelf. "We don't need anyone to condition us. This world conditions us."

"I guess either we let it or we leave it," Carol murmured.

He studied her eyes. "You thinkin' of leavin' again?"

"There's nowhere to leave to," she assured him.

He bit his bottom lip. He wanted to tell her he was glad Morgan had brought her back, that he'd didn't want her to go away again, that he didn't want her to go anywhere without him. But he didn't tell her that. He just nodded and murmured, "Mhmmhm."

Brother Lawrence was behind them now. "Got what I need," he said.

Daryl looked over his stack of three books. There was one with a monk on the cover, called _The Seven Storey Mountain._ Then there was a book called _Recovering from Rape_. He supposed the monk had picked that up for Nadia, who had been pressured to become one of Negan's "wives," and he didn't dare comment on it, the same way Carol hadn't said a word when _Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse_ had fallen out of his backpack.

"Nancy Drew?" Carol asked with a raised eyebrow, and that was when Daryl noticed _The Secret of the Old Clock_ underneath _Recovering from_ _Rape_.

"Nadia told me she loved Nancy Drew books as a child. She practiced her English reading them, before she came to America. I thought maybe…" he shrugged. "A reminder of happier times might help her."

Daryl felt one of those pangs he sometimes got, like heart burn almost. He often got them when someone did or said something that hinted of hope. It was such a strange, new emotion to him – _hope_. He'd learn to bury it as a boy, to hope for nothing more substantial than the next day's meal, because he knew he wasn't like people who hoped to go to college, or build a career, or start a family, or chase some other damn dream. But now he was in world where everyone was broken and wandering and uncertain of the future – and still, people hoped. Sometimes, even here, in the midst of the dead, they hoped.

He looked away from the hope in Brother Lawrence's eyes and said, "We should eat."

As they were leaving, Carol reached out and plucked _Ender's Game_ from the shelf.

[*]

Rick paced the firing range where the children aligned themselves. Only two of Alexandria's children had survived the Wolves and the War – ten-year-old, tow-headed, blue-eyed twin boys whose names Rick could never keep straight – he didn't know which was Anthony and which was David. Three children had come to Alexandria from the burned-out monastery, along with their mothers: eight-year-old Ethan, an excitable, auburn-haired boy who followed Daryl about like a puppy, always asking to see his crossbow; Jonathan, a nine-year-old, wire-spectacled, freckled, redhead who was forever showing Rick the parts of a radio he kept taking apart and putting back together; and Kendra, a pretty, eleven-year-old, black girl who assisted Nadia in the clinic.

It was Rick's duty to teach them all to shoot properly, a duty he took seriously, but which also caused him frequent frustration. "Ready," he commanded, "aim, fire!"

Two guns – Ethan's and Kendra's – went off, and the bullets hit somewhere within the concentric rings of the targets. Jonathan stood with his eyes still shut, the gun trembling in his hand, the trigger unsqueezed. And the twin boys Anthony and David were bickering and shoving each other. _Again._ Rick barked at them to "Stop!" and the bickering boys froze in place. "Lay down your rifles!" They did, placing the .22s with youth stocks on the shooting table. "If you can't be safe, get off my range. I'll speak to your mother later."

The boys, wide-eyed, scurried away. Rick sighed and walked up to Jonathan, who opened one eye and peered at him. "Let's try this together," Rick assured the boy gently.

[*]

The supply run team ate a lunch of slightly stale Quaker granola bars and trail mix on the hood of the Outback. Carol watched Daryl lick his fingers one by one. It was a disgusting habit of his, she thought, and yet...for some reason, she liked watching him do it.

The Special Dark bar turned out to be hard and whitish. "No sugar for you then," Carol teased.

"Stop."

Daryl always dismissed her when she joked about anything romantic or sexual with him. Was he capable of any other response? She wondered - if she hadn't said it like a joke the _first_ time – if she'd suggested screwing around in all seriousness - how would he have responded? Maybe they were too much like two sides of the same coin for the idea to ever be anything _but_ a joke.

Daryl took a sip from the tiny yellow straw lodged in a Caprisun. The drink aisle had been picked over at CVS, but one full box of 10 Roarin' Waters pouches was left. Grape flavor.

Carol burst out laughing at the look of him sucking on that tiny straw stuck in a kid's juice pouch.

"What?" Daryl asked. "No manly way to guzzle a Caprisun."

"I bet I could accomplish it in a masculine manner," Brother Lawrence boasted.

"Yeah?" Daryl challenged him. "Let me see you." He tossed him an unopened pouch.

Brother Lawrence caught it in one hand. He pulled out a small pocket knife that was clipped to his cassock, butterflying open the blade in a dexterous twirl, and stabbed the Caprisun. Thrusting his head back, he raised the pack over his mouth, opened wide, and squeezed.

"Dagnabit!" he shouted when the liquid gushed out in a disordered stream, only part of it making it into his mouth, and the rest splattering his eyes.

Carol chuckled as the monk wiped himself up.

Daryl slid off the hood. "Dumb ass," he muttered. "I don't know if I should give you these keys." Daryl dangled the keys in front of Brother Lawrence's face. When the monk took them, Daryl climbed into the backseat, where he stretched himself out and closed his eyes.

Carol supposed that left her with the shotgun position again, and, if she was going to be riding shotgun, she might as well be carrying one. Well, a rifle, anyway. She rested the AR-15 between her legs.

Once they were on the road, she glanced at Daryl in the mirror. His jaw was slightly stern even in his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl awoke to the sound of a bang. He sat straight up as the Outback swerved violently. He thought they'd just gotten a flat until Carol rolled down the passenger's side window, AR-15 in hand, and started shooting.

He left his crossbow on the floor and scurried for his gun.

"Out the left," Carol ordered him. "There's three of them shooting at us."

[*]

When Michonne returned from her shift on watch, Rick had a late lunch – or an early dinner - waiting on the table for her. "How domestic."

"I aim to please."

Judith slammed a palm down on the tray of her high chair and squealed. "Yours is coming," Rick assured her and poured some cheerios on the clean surface of the white plastic tray. "Applesauce, too. Later." Rick settled into his chair. " _I_ should have gone on this supply run."

"The Chairman of the Council can't be leaving town all the time," Michonne said as she sat down across from him. "It's the price you pay for being in charge. You have to learn to _delegate_."

Rick sighed. "I suppose."

[*]

Daryl hung out his window. They all shot at the car behind them until it spun to a stop. A man dangled, bent and bloody and face down, out of the rear passenger window. The driver had fallen face first on the horn, which let out a long, loud wail.

Brother Lawrence made a U-turn in the middle of the road. There was a thump-thump-thump sound as they drove back.

Daryl glanced at their flat tire in the rear as he got out of the Outback, crossbow in hand this time.

Carol extended her AR-15 as she canvassed the car. "All four dead," she shouted.

Brother Lawrence came to a standstill at the driver's side window and pulled the driver's head back from the horn.

"Let's hope they're a lone group," Carol said.

"What the hell happened back there?" Daryl asked.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty," Carol replied, "while you were napping, they pulled onto the highway from a side road behind us. Sped up and just started shooting."

"Probably wanted whatever we might have," Brother Lawrence said. "Nowadays, you're a virtuous man if you simply refrain from murdering people."

"Like we just did?" Carol asked.

Daryl cast her a worried look. He knew she had wanted to give up killing - that she had left so she wouldn't have to kill for the people she loved, and sometimes he feared she might leave again.

"It's not murder when they're trying to kill you," the monk replied. He reached through the open window and popped the trunk. "Let's see what they've got." The monk wandered around to the trunk while Carol and Daryl peered into the car windows. "Sodom and Gomorrah!" Brother Lawrence exclaimed.

Carol and Daryl glanced at each other, both smiling lightly at the strange curse. "This I gotta see," Daryl said, and both made their way to the trunk. Inside were piles upon piles of _Hustler_ and _Playboy_ and other porn magazines, along with a strange collection of adult toys. "Jesus," Daryl muttered. " _That's_ the store they think to loot?"

Brother Lawrence rifled through the magazines to uncover three boxes of ammo, which he handed to Carol. Daryl plucked out a red, five-gallon gas can from the trunk and shook it. "Almost full." He set it on the road.

Carol walked to the front door of the sedan, opened it, and commenced to stabbing the dead in the head before they could turn. She also collected their guns.

Meanwhile, the monk grabbed two pairs of fuzzy handcuffs out of the trunk. "The hell you want those for?" Daryl asked.

"You ever read _The Scarlet Letter?_ Nathaniel Hawthorne?"

"No."

"It begins like this - _The founders of a new colony, whatever utopia of human virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invariably recognized it among their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of a prison."_

Daryl stared at him blankly.

 _"_ Alexandria is going to need a prison one day." He draped the cuffs over his rope belt.

"Morgan already built a cell," Daryl told him. " And our people don't exactly have a good track record with handcuffs."

"Why's that?" Brother Lawrence asked.

"Rick once cuffed my brother to a pipe and left him for dead. Merle had to saw off his own hand."

"And yet you two seem to get along."

"Water under the bridge." Daryl turned his gaze back to the contents of the trunk and wondered - _Who the fuck needs that much porn?_

"You think this is why they were shooting at us?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Daryl was puzzled by the question. "Because of the girly mags?"

"Because they saw we had a woman with us."

Daryl's jaw tightened. He didn't want to think about what those men might have wanted to do with Carol. With two hands on the trunk, he slammed it closed. "Let's fix that tire."

They changed the flat tire while Carol stood guard. Then they emptied the gas can they'd found into the Outback, returned to the sedan, and siphoned off the remaining gas in the tank. It nearly refilled the can. They loaded the extra guns into the hatch, and Daryl told the monk to give him the keys.

"Why?" Brother Lawrence asked. "I'm happy to drive."

"Don't want you swerving all over the goddamn road again. You know you're supposed to steer _into_ the skid?"

"I wasn't swerving because the tire was flat. I was swerving to avoid the gunshots!"

"Give 'em here." Daryl extended his hand for the keys the monk was holding.

Brother Lawrence drew them back. "No. You were the one who was asleep through it all."

"Give 'em here."

"Look, I'm perfectly capable of - " Brother Lawrence fell silent because Carol had just grabbed the keys out of his hand.

"I'm driving, boys. So if you're done with your pissing match, let's be on our way."

[*]

Michonne cleared the plates to the sink and then sat back down across from Rick, who was finishing his water. "I hope they find some more formula," he said.

"Or at least powdered milk," Michonne replied. "It's okay to switch them to milk at twelve months, and she'll be there soon enough. And then you have to wean her off the bottle."

Judith looked at Michonne, picked up her bottle, and slammed it on her plastic tray, as if to protest the suggestion. Then she clumsily picked it back up and sucked on the nipple.

"Although, I breast fed Andre until he was - " Michonne fell suddenly silent.

Rick reached out across the table and squeezed her hand.

She swallowed, looked into a corner, and then looked back. "If they don't find formula or powdered milk," she said, "I suppose we'll just have to trade with the Hilltop." They traded with both the Hilltop and the Kingdom, two communities that had helped them in the war. The Hilltop had cows, but the milk would come at a steep price. At least Alexandria had a pantry half-filled with food now, thanks to the monastery's preserved cellars, and the greenhouse was full, though the garden plots lay fallow for the winter. "Where's Carl, by the way?"

"He's eating dinner with Enid later." Rick shook his head. "That whole thing is going nowhere fast."

"He's not even fifteen. There's no hurry."

"Try telling him that."

"I have." She leaned forward and smiled. "Since we're being domestic, tell me, honey, how was your day today? How was gun class?"

Rick glowered. "As usual."

Michonne chuckled. "That bad?"

"Those twins. And Jonathan. He can't even bring himself to pull the trigger. Ethan and Kendra are improving, at least, though Ethan's mom's paranoid about him being on the range."

Michonne didn't comprehend these overprotective mothers. Not in this world, where bubble wrapping your child was a recipe for destruction. "The kid has to learn." She smiled at Judith. "Don't you agree, little one?"

Judith chucked her bottle onto the floor and said, "Uh-oh."

[*]

Carol waited for Daryl to return to the Outback. He'd wanted to run back and check the trunk one last time for ammo. Maybe they'd missed some under all those magazines.

When he slid in the front passenger seat and closed the door, she asked, "Find any more?"

"Nah."

She began driving. "You really just went back to grab some of those magazines, didn't you?"

"No!" Daryl flushed red.

Carol reached over and patted his black leather jacket. "Feels like there's something in that inside pocket," she teased.

"Pay attention to the road!" he barked, swatting her hand away.

She smirked. "Just admit it."

"Fine. Got one. For _Carl_. Poor kid. Ain't but one girl his age in the whole damn village, and she's kind of a bitch to him."

"Such a godly man you are, Daryl," said Brother Lawrence from the back seat. "Always thinking of others before yourself, just as Christ Jesus intended."

"Shut up back there," Daryl grumbled.

"Do you really think that's a healthy introduction to sexuality for a young man?" the monk asked. "Highly unrealistic, airbrushed, naked pictures of _adult_ women with daddy issues?"

"First off, got him the barely eighteen issue. And it's _every_ boy's introduction. It was my introduction."

"Well, then," Brother Lawrence said. "I stand corrected. I mean, you've certainly turned out to be suave with the ladies."

Carol snorted.

They drove quietly for several miles. Eventually, Carol lowered the visor because the sun was beginning to set. It was strangely beautiful, the way the orange and red light fell behind the trees, like a painting almost, and she felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for the quieter moments in her childhood, when she would sit on the dock with her best friend, their bare feet dangling above the lake water, the light dancing on the ripples, giggling about the boys they liked in their class, Carol avoiding going home for as long as possible.

The monk could not seem to tolerate the silence. "You ever consider cutting your hair, Daryl?"

"Ain't cuttin' it."

"What if _Carol_ asked you to?"

"Then he'd be even less likely to do it," Carol said. "Daryl's passive aggressive like that." She smiled at him. He rolled his eyes.

"You _should_ consider cutting it," the monk continued. "It's starting to impede your vision. Vision is extremely important in this world. Then there are issues such as lice. And general cleanliness. Short hair is much more practical in this current world of ours. Carol's smart to keep hers short."

Daryl ignored his commentary. "When are we gettin' to this damn Cabela's?"

"We have another forty-five miles," Brother Lawrence answered.

"Ain't gonna make it before nightfall then. We should make camp."

"We should get off the road," Carol suggested. "Drive the Outback in, hide it as best we can. Hike a little farther in the woods. In case there are more men."

"It's cold," Daryl observed. "We're gonna need a good fire if we ain't gonna freeze to death, which is gonna draw the walkers."

"Seven miles up there are some cabins," Brother Lawrence told them. "We use to vacation there when I was a kid. They're about five miles back in the woods. We might be able to clear a cabin, board it up, use the fireplace. Smoke from the chimney won't draw them as much as an open fire, and if we're locked down..." He shrugged.

Carol glanced at Daryl. He nodded more with his eyes than with his chin. "Tell us when to stop," she told the monk.

Later, when Brother Lawrence told her to, Carol pulled a bit into the woods. The Outback crunched over sticks and leaves and rocks and came to a stop behind some trees.

"Let's lock in the supplies and just grab overnight bags," Brother Lawrence said when they'd all climbed out.

Carol chuckled. "You make it sound like we're going to a bed and breakfast."

"Well, I'll happily make you breakfast in the morning," the monk told her with a wink.

A surly look flashed in Daryl's eyes.

They took what they needed for the night - a backpack and two weapons per person - and began their hike inward. They killed a few walkers along the way, a straggler here and there, and munched on protein bars for dinner.

"Were you born a force of nature," Brother Lawrence asked Carol as they hiked, "or did this world just make you into a superlative fighter?"

"Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"I'm thinking of writing a history book for the future children of Alexandria, replete with stories of its founders and early settlers. Daryl's getting an entire chapter to himself."

Daryl grunted.

"Chapter Two," the monk told him.

"Who's chapter one?" Carol asked.

"Rick. I'm lumping Maggie and Glenn together in Chapter Three, but you've got Chapter Four all to yourself, Carol. So I'm trying to flesh out the legend."

"Well, no, I was _not_ born fighting," she replied. "How about you? Were you born with that longbow in your hand, or did you really pluck it off the monastery wall?"

"It _was_ a decoration in the monastery," he insisted, "but, to be fair...I was on the archery team in high school. And also in college. "

Frozen leaves crunched beneath Carol's feet. They were going to have to turn on flashlights before long, if they didn't find a cabin soon. "And the other brothers and their weapons?" she asked.

"Brother Stephen went to college on a fencing scholarship, so he took to the sword well enough. Brother Thomas never used a mace before, but he already had a black belt in karate, and he'd done a lot of work with nunchucks. And Brother Matthew was always in charge of chopping wood for the monastery, so he was well suited to the battle axe."

Daryl made a hrmphing sound. "Not exactly the story as you first told it."

"Well, we may have allowed something of a mythos to grow up around our origins. There's nothing wrong in that. Every people needs a mythology, especially in the beginning."

They were nearing a bank that led down to a wide stream, across from which was another bank that ended against a hill. A little ways behind that, they could spy a cabin. They looked down the hill to the muddy bank below. The water appeared frozen.

"Should we try walking over it?" Carol asked.

"Too risky," the monk answered. "That stream's a lot deeper than you might think. This isn't creek water. It's practically a river. Up to nine feet deep in the middle, and it's not far enough into winter for the ice to be solid all the way across."

Daryl nodded to his right. They followed his gaze. About a half mile down through the clearing, a fallen tree lay across the hills on the two banks, just a few feet above the frozen water.

"That'll do," the monk said, and they started walking again.

When they reached the tree, Brother Lawrence suggested they cross one at a time. "It's not that thick. We don't want to put too much weight on it."

Carol volunteered to go first, since she was the lightest. Daryl turned on his flashlight and shined a beam to better light her way. She stood on the fallen tree and put her hands out for balance, like she'd been taught to do in her gymnastics class as a little girl. She'd loved that class, but when her father found out about it, he had angrily told her mother it was a waste of money and slapped her across the face for signing Carol up for it.

Carol was feeling pretty confident when her foot slid against a patch of ice on the tree. She lost her footing and tumbled the four feet down, hitting the ice with a hard thud.

"Carol!"

Daryl's cry was loud, but it was the hard crack of the ice that she heard first. Bruised and reeling, she began to scurry to her feet as the lines in the ice grew. Carol had almost stood when the ice shattered and she was plunged into the frigid water.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl hustled across the fallen tree, then slid down the hill ungracefully to the bank below. Brother Lawrence followed more cautiously, shouting, "Break the ice on the other side! She's not finding her way out."

Daryl, on his knees on the bank, took his crossbow and began smashing the ice.

 **[*]**

Michonne stabbed the katana into thin air, turned on her heel, and stabbed again, the light snow crunching beneath her feet.

She raised the katana above her head and felt a presence behind her. Lowering the weapon, she turned to find Brother Stephen wincing. She had to remind herself of the nerve damage to his mouth before she decided that he was probably smiling.

[*]

All was blackness beneath the ice.

Carol wrestled off her backpack, which was holding her down. She swam up but couldn't find the opening. Where had it gone? She'd lost her sense of direction.

The sounds of the men shouting to each other from above were muffled. Her hands pushed against solid ice. She'd never felt such coldness in her life, washing over every inch of her.

She needed to breathe.

 **[*]**

"Impressive," Brother Stephen said. "I _heard_ about you, but I never _saw_ you at work during the war. Did you ever study fencing in school?"

Michonne chuckled. "No. They didn't exactly have fencing where I went to school. Not _that_ kind of fencing anyway, though my cousin was a fence."

"I thought you were a high-class lawyer in the old world," Brother Stephen mused.

"I went to both college and law school on a scholarship." She didn't want to talk about her old life. "Why don't I ever see you practicing with your sword?"

"I've put up my sword. I've beaten it into a plowshare. Not literary, but - "

"- I understand the reference," Michonne interrupted. "I went to church. But in this world, even in times of peace, you have to be prepared for the next battle." Michonne raised her katana and began walking through the form…for the tenth time that night.

[*]

Sounds like those of a wounded animal escaped Daryl as he pounded on the ice. It shattered. Cracks grew in every direction, and the ice cleared above the black water near the shore.

Carol's head emerged through the opening mid-stream. She sputtered and gasped for breath.

 **[*]**

Michonne paused in her form once again. This time, she found Rick watching her. "Aren't you getting cold?" he asked. "You don't have any gloves."

"The movement keeps me warm."

"It's getting dark. Come inside. I've started the fire." Michonne sheathed her katana and took his outstretched hand. "Was that monk flirting with you?" he asked.

"Brother Stephen?" Michonne laughed. "I seriously doubt that."

[*]

Carol could barely see around her, but Daryl's voice fell on her ears like a lifeline: "Go back under the ice! Swim toward shore."

 _Under the ice?_ That was the last thing she wanted to do. "Are you crazy! Get me out!"

"We can't get to you there," Brother Lawrence shouted.

"I'm clearin' the ice!" Daryl called. "Swim to me."

Shivering, desperate, and afraid, Carol dove back under. She swam until she reached shallower water and tried to stand. Her shoulder pushed away floating shards of ice.

Carol found her footing and stumbled through the broken ice toward shore. Daryl waded in to grab her. Soaking and trembling, she fell against his chest.

 **[*]**

When Rick and Michonne came through the front door, Carl was inside playing with Judith on the floor before the fireplace. Judith was trying to put a round block in a square opening in the shape-sorter toy.

Michonne used to feel like that, sometimes, as a lawyer in her Atlanta high rise condo – as if she was forcing herself into a mold that didn't quite fit – as if she could never quite squeeze through. She'd felt like that her first few weeks in the prison, too, when she was trying to find her cautious place among Rick's people.

But she didn't feel like that now, as she propped her katana against the couch and eased onto its cushions. Here, in this world, in some strange way, she fit perfectly.

[*]

"She's turning blue!" Brother Lawrence shouted. "We've got to get her to that cabin, start a fire, get her warmed up. She could die of hypothermia."

The tightened mass of fear in Daryl's gut might have weighed him to the ground if he paused to notice it, but instead he threw his shoulder beneath Carol's arm and began to walk her from the shore.

"She ain't climbing that hill," he said, looking up it. It wasn't particularly high, but it was steep, and Carol was shaking like a leaf in a fall windstorm.

"I''ll go up first," the monk said. "See if you can push her up to me somehow."

 **[*]**

"How was your hot date?" Michonne teased Carl as he guided his little sister's hand to the proper shape. Michonne can see the resemblance between the two siblings, thought Rick has told her they are only half brother and sister. She wonders how much of their mother is in them. She wonders, sometimes, if Rick misses Lori, if he wishes she were still alive, if he'd rather have his late wife back than his current, apocalyptic girlfriend. If he does, he doesn't show it. Neither of them talks often of their past lives. This is their world now.

"It was okay," answered Carl, sounding less than thrilled.

Michonne smirked. "Didn't make it to second base?"

Carl glared at her with his one eye. "Come on," he said, nodding to his father, who sat beside her now.

"Right." Michonne winked. "You can tell me later. When the old man's not around."

[*]

Carol nearly faded to black. Or maybe she fully did. She wasn't entirely aware of what was happening. Her body was jostled about by the two men. She heard them giving commands to each other, but she couldn't make out the words. At some point, she felt herself lifted.

Her head spun, like it had when she was 18 and her first boyfriend had gotten her drunk on his father's secret stash of Southern Comfort. She'd woken up the next morning, hungover and no longer a virgin.

The sky was black, but a few stars were beginning to shine in the canopy above. Why was she looking up? The lights blurred together.

 **[*]**

Carl stood and lifted Judith up. "I'll put her to bed tonight."

"I appreciate that," Rick told him.

"Well, you've been teaching and then fortifying that fence. I've just been…hanging out." Carl bent over so Judith could lean forth in his arms and receive Rick's kiss. Then she reached out to Michonne.

"You want a kiss from me too?" Michonne, secretly pleased, asked.

Judith made a raspberry sound.

Michonne leaned forward and kissed her soft, innocent little cheek. This was what they were building for, she thought. This was why they needed to preserve the peace. Life was growing here, like a beam of light filtering through the darkness.

[*]

By the time he got to the cabin, Daryl was ready to drop Carol. He bent and let her slide onto the floor.

Brother Lawrence unrolled and unzipped a sleeping bag and snapped it out before the fireplace. "You have to strip her."

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Get off her wet clothes!" The monk searched around, grabbed some old papers from the cabin's counter, and shoved them in the fireplace.

Daryl knelt before Carol. He looked her in the eyes. "Gotta undress you."

She swayed and appeared confused as he peeled off her jacket and then pulled her boots and socks from her feet. He put his hands hesitantly on the hem of her sweater. "It's just me, Carol. Ain't nobody you gotta worry 'bout." When he began to pull her sweater up, she clasped her arms around herself. "You'll freeze if I don't get these wet clothes off."

"Daryl?" she asked, blinking and focusing on his face.

He wondered if she'd been under the ice too long, if her brain had lost too much oxygen, if things weren't quite connecting. "Yeah. Just me."

She let her arms fall to her side. He pulled off her sweater and t-shirt and then reached around her back, where he fumbled to unhook her bra.

"Front clasp," the monk said as he lit a match and set a piece of paper on fire before feeding it into the fireplace.

Daryl finished undressing Carol while Brother Lawrence stoked the fire. She was wet to the skin, and cold to the touch, when he lifted her in his arms. He carried her to the sleeping bag, lay her down, and began to zip it up around her.

"You're going to have to take off your clothes and get in with her," Brother Lawrence said.

"What?"

"You know how this works! She needs the body heat."

"Uh..." Daryl looked down at Carol in the sleeping bag.

"Fine, I'll do it. You board up the windows." Brother Lawrence untied his cassock and shed it. He had jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt on underneath. He started to pull the sweatshirt over his head.

"No!" Daryl shouted. "No. I'll do it."

Daryl left his boxers on. They hadn't gotten wet from carrying Carol the way the rest of his clothes had, and that still left plenty of skin to skin contact. After crawling in behind her, he zipped the sleeping bag up tightly around them both and spooned against her, with her facing the flickering fire. Careful not to touch her too intimately, he began rubbing Carol's arms and legs to warm her, before finally settling with an arm around her waist and his chin atop her head. He could hear the sounds of frantic hammering all around and then the monk moving a couch against the door.

 **[*]**

Rick leaned against the counter top and rubbed his eyes. Michonne pushed a cup of tea over to him. "I think Carl went to bed to read. That means we get the T.V. tonight."

She was joking. They _did_ have DVD players and DVDs, but power restrictions were in place. The solar panels could only generate so much energy. They weren't allowed to use any entertainment media, except on special, Council-approved occasions that usually involved a large-group gathering.

Rick stood straight and sipped the tea. "What do you say we make our own movie?"

[*]

Carol had drifted to sleep, but she awoke to the sounds of Brother Lawrence feeding the dying fire. She spied his kneeling form, and then her eyelids fluttered closed again.

She vaguely remembered Daryl taking her clothes off and felt his body pressed to hers. "I'm cold," she said.

"I know," Daryl murmured. "But I got ya."

 **[*]**

Rick shut the bedroom door with a soft click. When he turned, Michonne was already stripping down. She let her clothes pool at her feet on the floor, and then turned the lamp down to its lowest setting. The light glow clothed her dark body in tender light.

"I feel overdressed," he said.

Michonne smiled and prowled toward him.

[*]

Daryl raised his head slightly to look at Carol's face as she slept. Her color was coming back.

Brother Lawrence pulled out his prayer beads. "I'm going to say a liturgy for healing."

Daryl's instinct was to tell the monk that was a waste of time, that if there was a God, he didn't seem to care much about whether people lived or died. But he didn't say it. He just let the monk pray.

And maybe some part of him prayed too.

 **[*]**

Rick's belt, pants, and shirt lay discarded on the bedroom floor.

The soft bristles of his beard tickled Michonne's naval while he sprinkled a trail of kisses downward.

 **[*]**

Carol awoke again and opened her eyes long enough to see the flames dancing in the fireplace. She closed them but didn't fall back to sleep right away.

Daryl's muscular arms felt firm and steady against her. His bare skin was warm, and she was surprised at the way his body seemed to mold perfectly against hers.

"Should I get out now?" Daryl asked. Carol was considering her answer when she realized he wasn't talking to her. "Now she's warmed up?"

"Might as well spend the night there," Brother Lawrence replied. "Make sure she stays warm. We lost her sleeping bag in the stream. We've only got the two now. I'll lay out some of my clothes for her to wear in the morning. I've got a pair of sweat pants. They'll be a bit big, but she can cinch them up. And a sweatshirt."

"A _bit_ big?" Carol murmured.

Daryl raised his head. "Ya a'ight?"

"Still cold."

He lowered his head back down to the floor. He slid his arm a little lower, as though he was worried it might be too close to her breasts. He shifted in the bag. Carol could feel his breath falling lightly on her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and sweat and dry forest leaves, and instead of finding that combination repulsive, she found it masculine, familiar, and comforting.

She heard the rasp of a zipper as the monk prepared his sleeping bag. Soon enough, Carol fell back to sleep.

 **[*]**

Michonne arched her back and dug her nails into Rick's hair. She writhed and struggled to push him away, to stop the delicious torture. Finally, he relented and kissed his way back up to her lips.

"My turn?" he asked hopefully.

Michonne pushed at his bare shoulder to roll him onto his back. "Your turn," she agreed.

[*]

Daryl couldn't sleep.

He hadn't been comfortable crawling half naked into this sleeping bag with Carol, but he sure as hell hadn't wanted the monk to do it. He didn't know why the thought bothered him so much. Daryl didn't think too deeply about how he felt about Carol. He just knew she made him feel differently than he'd ever felt before - like maybe he was _worth_ something.

And he knew she felt good against his chest right now...probably because she was warm, which meant she wasn't dying. Except...it wasn't just that. She was soft, too. Her bare skin was smoother than he'd imagined it being. Not that he spent a lot of time imagining what her skin felt like. It was just that he hadn't pictured it being quite this soft. He'd held her before, but usually at some terrible moment, like when they'd found Sophia, and he'd restrained her in her grief. He sure as hell hadn't been thinking about the way her skin felt then.

But it was _all_ he could think about at the moment.

"This Cabela's damn well better be worth the trip," he muttered, not sure if the monk was still awake to hear him.

"What would you rather be doing?" Brother Lawrence replied. "Organizing the pantry?

Daryl muttered a no.

"You were made for the wilderness, Daryl, and outside the gates of Alexandria, all the world's a wilderness now. You _need_ to be on this run. You're not any good at playing house. And Carol...well, Carol's very good at it. But I suspect that's exactly what she's been doing. Playing _._ " The monk rolled on his side and murmured goodnight.

Daryl closed his eyes and tried to let every shadow of a thought drain from his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

When Carol awoke the next morning, she spied the monk's empty sleeping bag. Daryl muttered and stirred awake behind her. In an attempt to turn to face him, she shifted and felt his erection against the small of her back.

He immediately moved away. "Sorry," he muttered. "Ain't nothin'. Just mornin' wood. Always get it."

She unzipped the sleeping bag, slightly bothered by the hasty way he'd dismissed it, as though she was about as attractive as a stiff breeze.

 **[*]**

Rick walked by Michonne, who was doing her forms again, at sunrise, near the fallow garden plots. "Give it a rest!" he called.

"Well, you're up early."

"Breach in the fence. Walkers are piling up. I need to practice my stabbing." He pumped his hand forward, realized it looked like a jerking-off motion, and blushed and laughed.

"Have fun," Michonne smirked.

[*]

Daryl watched Carol crawl out of the sleeping bag, her back to him. Why'd she have to shift her ass against him like that first thing in the morning? It was mortifying. She walked to the clothes Brother Lawrence had left out and pulled them on. When she began to turn toward him, he shut his eyes fast.

"Where's Brother Lawrence?" she asked.

Daryl opened his eyes and sat up in the sleeping bag. He looked around and saw that the couch was no longer in front of the door. "Probably out on the porch prayin'. You know how he is."

He slid out of the sleeping bag, grabbed a pair of dry jeans from his pack and pulled them on. He didn't try to zip or button them. Instead, he put on a long shirt that fell far enough down to cover his erection, and then he shoved a bandanna in his pocket. "I'll check on him. Got to take a piss anyway."

Sure enough, the monk was sitting on the second step leading up to the porch, a lone, dead walker not far from his feet, a bloody knife on the step beside him, and a rosary in his hands. He was muttering to himself, or to his god, and caressing the beads.

Daryl walked all the way around the corner of the wrap-around porch to the far end for some privacy. He snapped the bandanna out of his pocket, leaned with one hand against the wall of the cabin, and took himself in his other hand. A jumbled slideshow of images flashed through his mind: the sexually aggressive, 17-year-old girl he'd lost his virginity to when he was a freshman in high school...the pretty, unobtainable woman he'd worked alongside at the bait and tackle shop in his 20s...one of those magazine covers in the trunk...and then Carol, crawling naked out of that damn sleeping bag.

She was the only one he felt guilty thinking about.

 **[*]**

Rick came to a stop before the front gate and looked up at the platform at Glenn and Maggie, who were standing watch, though there seemed to be a little more kissing than watching going on. "I could use your help, Romeo," he called. "There's a pile up of walkers."

"I'll help, too," Maggie said, and made a step toward the ladder, but not before Glenn could take her by the shoulder to argue.

Rick sighed and looked down at the ground, waiting for the argument to end. Glenn didn't like Maggie setting foot outside the gates these days, with their baby knitting its way to being in her womb.

[*]

Carol had the tie of Brother Lawrence's sweatpants pulled as tightly as possible and double knotted when the monk came inside. "We need to find some better clothes for me on the road," she said.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

He nodded to the jar of peanut butter she'd pulled from the cabin. "Breakfast?" he asked.

She unscrewed the cap and turned it toward him so he could see the swarm of sugar ants that had overtaken it. "I don't think so."

"We've still got some granola bars in the Outback."

Daryl came through the door. He sure had taken a long time out there. Carol noticed he didn't meet her eyes. "We better hit the road," he said as he grabbed his crossbow. "Aw, shit!"

Carol looked over and saw that the stock was cracked all over, the spring was popped, and the strings were dangling loose. It looked completely unusable. "What happened to it?"

"Used it to break the ice."

So he'd traded his crossbow for her life. "Can you fix it?" she asked.

"No." Daryl tossed it roughly against the cabin wall. "You better be right about this damn Cabela's," he told the monk. "It better not be completely picked over, because I need me a new crossbow."

They made it back to the Outback without incident. Daryl had given Carol his coat and gloves, and she could tell he was freezing by the time they got in the car by the way he cranked up the heater. The monk rode in the back, and after they'd been driving for a while, Carol asked Daryl to pull over near some abandoned cars so she could look for clothes.

She found an attractive but comfortable long-sleeved dress and a pair of thick black leggins as well as another coat. The men turned away while she changed, a laughable modesty considering they'd both seen her stripped naked last night, and yet she appreciated the simple gesture in this brutal world.

The car was warm, so she didn't bother with the coat, and Daryl kept glancing at her as he drove.

"What?" she asked. "I know. You think I look ridiculous in this, don't you?"

"Uh...nah," he muttered and returned his attention to the road.

"What Daryl _means_ to say," said Brother Lawrence from the back seat, "is that you look stunning in that dress. It brings out the subtle blue-green hue in your doe-like eyes."

Carol laughed.

 **[*]**

Despite the countless number of times he'd done this, Rick still couldn't tolerate the sound. It made him shiver a little bit, every time, like nails on a chalkboard – that awful squish when the knife went in and the scrape against bone when it came out. As the walker fell, a gunshot sounded to his left, then a second, and a third. Glenn was picking off those that were getting too close to Rick. They tried not to waste bullets these days, but there were too many walkers today. The creatures must have heard the kids whooping and hollering last night over the snow fall, which left only inch in the end.

Rick leaned a hand against the rusty paneling of the fence and caught his breath.

"I'll go get the cart," Glenn said, "so we can haul them to the ditch."

[*]

It took a long time to get ten miles. The road was blocked by too many abandoned cars and they had to take side streets and backtrack and weave their way around, but they made their way back to the highway. At one point, Carol asked them to stop so she could go to the bathroom. She took her gun, and they waited in the Outback.

Daryl drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while the monk organized his arrows in his quiver.

"What the hell was that?" Daryl asked. "That nonsense about hues and doe-like eyes?"

"You don't think Carol looks pretty in that dress?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Tell me something, Daryl. Are you a virgin?"

"What? Hell kind of question is that?"

"Just curious."

" _I_ ain't a monk," Daryl said.

"Well, I wasn't _always_ a monk. When I was in high school, all the girls loved my longbow skills."

"Like hell they did," Daryl muttered.

"Alas, you're right. They weren't any more impressed by my archery than by my Latin trophies. Celibacy wasn't much of a leap for me. How about you? Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"What is this? Twenty questions?"

"I'm merely curious," the monk replied.

"I've had _plenty_ of girlfriends. Hell is wrong with you? Shut up back there."

"It's difficult for me to imagine you asking a girl on a date," Brother Lawrence said.

"I never _had_ to ask a girl on a date."

"Well, I don't mean going to bed with some Jezebel who picked you up in a bar. I mean, a _real_ girlfriend. Someone you take to the movies. Someone you stroll hand in hand with around the lake. You ever have one of those?"

"Swear to God, ya say one more word, I'm gonna crawl back there and strangle ya."

The monk chuckled. "You're temperamental."

Daryl turned abruptly and was preparing to crawl through the space between the seats when Carol opened the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothin'." He turned around, sat down hard, and started the car.

They drove in silence for a while until the monk said, "What was the best vacation you ever took, Carol, before this all happened?"

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose when I was a little girl and my aunt took me to St. Simon's Island in Georgia. I collected 47 shells."

"How about you, Daryl?" the monk asked. "What was your favorite vacation spot before the world as we knew it ended?"

"Hell ya think?" he replied. "Think my daddy ever took me to Disney World?"

Carol gave him a warning look. "How about you, Brother Lawrence?" she asked. "Clearly _you_ have a favorite vacation you'd like to tell us about."

"I went to visit the Vatican when I was in seminary. I got to meet the Pope."

"Yeah?" Daryl's voice was raw and angry. "You like lookin' up at that gold-plated castle of his while all the people groveled and begged for food 'round it?"

"Daryl," Carol said softly.

"No," Daryl spat. "Needs to be said. Your people, goin' 'round buildin' cathedrals, while half the world crawls in the dirt and sweat, just tryin' to put food on the table."

" _My_ people?" Brother Lawrence asked. "And how many soup kitchens have _your_ people opened? How many free hospitals have they built? How many schools?"

"Boys!" Carol shouted. "Get along."

Brother Lawrence leaned back against the back seat and looked out the window.

Daryl cleared his throat. He thought of that woman he and Beth hand found hanging in the country club, with the _Rich Bitch_ sign around her neck. He thought of Beth, so innocent, so free of hatred, compassionate even toward the dead, begging him to cut her down. He thought of how, when he threw that sheet over that woman - _for Beth_ \- he knew, even as he was doing it, that he perfectly understood the jealousy and hatred in the hearts of whatever low-class rednecks had strung her up. And he hated himself in that moment, because he knew if Beth knew he understood, she would have been horrified by him.

He glanced at Carol. She caught his gaze. Carol knew, he thought. Carol knew about the dirty, dark hatreds in his heart. And yet she _wasn't_ horrified by him. Beth had made him believe there was still goodness in this rotten world, but it was Carol who had made him believe there was still goodness in _himself_. "Ya look pretty in that dress," he said and then quickly returned his eyes to the road.


	7. Chapter 7

Glenn rolled the last walker body down into the wide ditch, reared back at the stench, and coughed. Here they burned trash and walker bodies, and here the sewage, which was pumped through underground pipes, spewed out. The ditch also served as a kind of moat to block off any sneaky entry into the rear of Alexandria. To reach the rear fence, an enemy would have to cross "Gehenna," as Father Gabriel liked to call the pile of ashes, bones, and sewage below.

"Time for lunch," Rick said. "We'll do a controlled burn tomorrow, after trash disposal."

Glenn crinkled his nose. "How can you even _think_ about lunch out here?"

Rick's stomach growled. "It's that time."

Glenn checked the watch he'd inherited from Hershel and then slid it back into the pocket of his jeans. Every time Glenn pulled it out, it reminded Rick of every soul they'd lost at the prison. It reminded him of how he'd once lost himself, down some rabbit hole of his own mind. But he wasn't lost now. He was an Alexandrian. A survivor. Both a laborer and a leader, a father and…a boyfriend?

Rick didn't much like the sound of that word. He'd rather be a _husband_. But he and Michonne hadn't been together that long. He was half afraid of frightening her off with his seriousness, and half afraid that admitting how much she meant to him would be like putting a target on her back. Fate had already slung too many arrows at those he loved.

"You coming?" Glenn asked, glancing back over his shoulder as he walked toward the motorized cart they'd used to haul the bodies. Rick turned and followed.

[*]

Brother Lawrence leaned forward from the backseat. "Turn left at the dirt road up ahead. Let's check out the winery up there. People think to hit liquor and grocery stores, but not necessarily wineries."

"We don't need wine," Daryl replied.

"Come now, my son, a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often grumbling."

"There's a cabernet sauce I'd like to make for dinner sometime," Carol said.

"Ain't got an unlimited supply of gas to be makin' detours."

"Carol's cooking _is_ fantastic, Daryl, you have to admit. And she just wants one more ingredient. Would you deny her the desire of her heart?"

"She can cook fine without wine," Daryl grumbled.

"You're right. Carol's a great cook. Better even than my mother. Is she better than yours was?"

Daryl grunted. "My mama cooked with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of cheap box wine in the other."

"So that's a yes, then?" The monk patted Daryl lightly on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's get Carol some cabernet for her cabernet sauce. What do you think?"

"Think you're a closet boozer," Daryl muttered.

"Oh, there are _no_ closets involved. I very openly praise God for the fruit of the earth."

Daryl lost the argument. They took the detour, kicking up dust on a country road for three miles, weaving around a few walkers in overalls, past hollowed-out carcasses of cows and frozen, decaying vines to a little barn that had been converted to a tasting room.

They tried the door and found it locked. Daryl stood to one side, handgun ready, and nodded to the monk, who attempted to kick the door in, only to fall back on his ass, clutch his foot, and curse, "Scribes and Pharisees!"

"Idiot," Daryl muttered.

"I'll get it." Carol picked up a rock and smashed the window next to the door. From within came the sound of dead flesh growling and chomping. She put the barrel of her AR-15 through the window, squinted down the scope, and shot three times. "All clear," she said, and reached through the window and unlocked the door.

The monk was by now standing up and dusting himself off. "You are a paragon of good sense, Carol," he said.

Daryl shook his head and pushed the door open. Feeling naked without his crossbow, he swept to his left and right with his handgun as he walked toward the center of the room. There was a dead walker slumped on the bar from the serving side, one face down at a table, and a third on the floor. He wondered what had happened here, how they'd managed to be locked inside, and for how long.

He lowered his gun to his holster and approached the wooden bar. In the inch of dust that coated it, he wrote, _Daryl Dixon was here_. Carol sidled up beside him and said, "You have pretty cursive."

"You can thank Mrs. Watson." He'd thought Mrs. Watson was a real bitch, holding him back almost every day, making him write line after line after line of cursive, when his cursive was just fine, thank you. But she always gave him a juice box and a sandwich when she did it. It wasn't until fifteen years later that it occurred to him that she was worried he wasn't being fed at home and was trying to help him. If he had known that back then, he might not have snuck in the classroom trailer early one morning and written _Mrs. Watson is a stupid bitch_ in neat cursive fifteen times on the black board. And she might not have asked that he be transferred to another class.

Carol wrote her name in the dust, making a happy face in the O. Daryl added a neck and stick figure body to the happy face.

"Children," Brother Lawrence said, "this is not art class. We need to gather the wine and get out of here before those walkers down the road come this way." He placed a bottle on the bar. "That one's for Carol. It's the only cab."

They ended up salvaging fifteen bottles. Most had been somehow broken by the three walkers who had apparently spent months banging around in the tasting room. Daryl pillaged a rustic display shelf in the corner. He grabbed four unopened boxes of fancy crackers. The picture on the outside showed a dollop of cream cheese and a whispy sliver of salmon, with a random piece of some thin leafy green thing on top. Who the hell ate that shit? He'd never had anything but saltine crackers growing up. _Store brand_ saltines. And sometimes he'd put Spam on them and make himself a little Spam cracker sandwich.

He picked up a piece of hard cheese and sniffed, made a disgusted grunt, and tossed it on the ground. Daryl examined one of the sausages. They were cured. They were probably fine. He started loading up his backpack. He even collected two small bags of dark-chocolate covered pomegranate something or another. It was clear they'd melted in the summer and then re-freezed in a lumpy cluster. Still, Rick would be pleased. Next he shoveled in three bags of "fancy mixed nuts." He wondered what made some nuts fancier than others. There were a dozen sodas in a refrigerator case behind the bar, and he shoveled those into his backpack as well.

"Soda," Carol said. "The kids sure are going to be happy with you when we get back."

"They're already happy with me." He was joking, but there was also some truth to it. Ethan was always begging to shoot his crossbow. Jonathan kept asking him to try out his radio. Kendra had assisted Nadia to help clean his wound after he was shot. And then there was Little Ass Kicker. Daryl would always have a soft place in his heart for that little girl. To Judith, he'd always been one of the family, and she called him "Dee Dee."

They returned to the Outback and Brother Lawrence shot three more walkers that had begun to come across the parking lot toward the tasting room. Daryl envied him his bow as he helped retrieve the blood-caked arrows. They drove back to the highway and a few miles later stopped for a late lunch of cured sausage, crackers, nuts, and wine. They split a bottle of Merlot, using their travel coffee mugs as wine glasses.

"A Virginia Merlot is really more like a Pinot Noir," Brother Lawrence said.

"Either way, tastes like ass," Daryl replied.

"Then why do you keep drinking it?" Carol asked him.

"'Cause I ain't anywhere close to buzzed." He never got there, since Carol and Brother Lawrence refused to let him open a second bottle.

Daryl tossed the empty wine bottle in the air and Brother Lawrence tried to hit it with an arrow from his longbow. The arrow glanced off the bottle.

"Doesn't count. My turn." Daryl reached for the bow.

The monk pulled it back. "If I couldn't do it, you can't do it."

"Bet I can. Give it here."

"Boys," Carol scolded, and nodded up the highway, where a small herd of about ten walkers was ambling toward them.

"I could of done it," Daryl insisted as they all climbed in the car.

[*]

"I've been thinking," Rick told Carl when he found his son lounging on the sofa of the living room and reading a comic. "Now that things are settled…Maybe you and Enid should start going to school."

Alexandria had a one-room – or rather a two-garage – schoolhouse. It consisted of a few desks, a chalk board, and a white board. Different teachers rotated through to give various lessons to the children on a wide range of subjects, both practical and theoretical. Classes met both in and outside the classroom. Practical lessons were held on the range, in the green house, at the butcher's table, in the clinic, or in the kitchen.

"School's for thirteen and under," Carl replied. "Fourteen makes you a man in this world."

Rick slumped down in the arm chair. "Is that so?"

"I can shoot. I can drive. And I've been to war, haven't I?"

"What else have you been up to?"

Carl flicked his wrist so that his comic fell shut. "What's that mean?"

Rick sighed. Michonne probably knew more about his son's romantic life than he did. Lori had given Carl the basic birds and bees talk shortly before the collapse of the world and then told him, "If you have any questions, you can ask me or your father." Back then, the boy had asked Rick blunt, innocent questions, and he'd answered just as bluntly. But they hadn't broached the subject since. "Listen, I think you're much too young for sex. But if you and Enid – "

Carl stood up abruptly and held out a hand like a stop sign. "Dad, we are _not_ talking about this." He began walking toward the kitchen.

"Sooner or later," Rick called after him, "we _are_."

[*]

It was late afternoon when the team reached Cabela's. The parking lot was deserted except for six abandoned cars. They saw only a handful of walkers, which they dispatched promptly.

"Good sign," the monk said. "This place may be largely untouched. We may have hit the jackpot."

"We'll see about that," Daryl muttered.

They approached the front door, weapons drawn. It was strangely intact. No one had shattered the glass. Carol pulled on the handle, but it didn't budge. "Locked," she said.

Daryl backed away from the door and looked around for something to bust it open. In the process, he spied three empty tin cans sitting straight up on the pavement. There was a target drawn on each one with what looked to be a red Sharpie. "The hell?" He was walking toward the cans when he felt a change in the air. He heard the sound of muffled rifle shots - a _pew, pew, pew_ \- as the cans toppled over one by one by one.

Daryl whirled around, gun outstretched, and scanned the rooftop for the source, while Carol and Brother Lawrence, weapons readied, molded themselves to either side of the front door.


	8. Chapter 8

"Next time it'll be you," came a voice from above, through what sounded like a bull horn. Daryl eyed the rooftop, but couldn't make out anyone. "You're surrounded. We're all expert marksmen. If you try to come in, we'll kill you all. Go back, get in your car, drive away, and we won't harm you."

Brother Lawrence walked from the door and peered up in the direction of the voice. "See anyone?"

Daryl shook his head.

"What should we do?" the monk asked.

Carol joined them, her AR-15 still readied. "I guess we go back. Wait until nightfall and take a closer look?"

They retreated, weapons drawn and pointed toward the roof, to the Outback. They drove away a couple of miles and parked. "Sounded like a damn kid's voice," Daryl said.

"Fourteen years old at most," the monk agreed.

"If there'd been any men," Daryl speculated, "one of them would have spoken, don't you think? They ain't gonna let a kid speak for them."

"Might be _Lord of the Flies_ up there," Brother Lawrence mused. "Young teenagers running around Cabela's like a bunch of shipwrecked school boys."

"That kid knew how to shoot, though," Daryl said. "That was long range, and he hit every one of those cans."

"So should we go back after sunset?" Carol suggested. "We could maybe shatter a window and draw one or two of them out to investigate and repair. They'll probably think it's walkers."

"And then what?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Kill them? For some boots and ammo?"

"You're the one who wanted us to come all the way out here!" Daryl reminded him.

"We don't have to kill them," Carol said. "Whoever comes out, let's just hold them at gunpoint and get the others to give up their weapons. They didn't seem to be the kind of people to shoot unless necessary."

"So we're going to commit armed robbery?" the monk asked.

"We're going to assess the situation," Carol replied. "And then see if they're willing to share a few things."

[*]

Michonne curled her feet up on the couch and leaned against Rick's side. The yellow-orange flames flickered lightly in the fireplace.

"That boy won't talk to me," Rick said.

"He's at that age. He's pulling away."

"He talks to _you_."

"He sees me as more of a pal than as a parent."

Rick twirled one of her dreadlocks around his finger and that let it unwind. "Why is that, do you suppose? I mean…we're together. Right?"

"Pretty sure you were in my bed last night. Or me in yours. However you want to look at that."

Rick was hoping for a clearer statement of the status of their relationship. What were they to each other, precisely? "You weren't married in the old world, were you?"

"No. I was with Andre's father, but we weren't married."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It seemed like a bit of bourgeois convention to me back then. Marriage."

"And does it now?"

"Now? Now it seems like an ancient tradition of some long-ago world. Here, we make our own rules. We aren't even born into a family here. We forge one."

Rick's fingertips settled lightly on her shoulder. "I guess we do."

[*]

They hiked back to Cabela's under cover of darkness and scouted around the perimeter but found no signs of numbers. Daryl gave the signal for the monk to smash one of the windows with an anchor he'd taken from one of the boats parked for sale outside. He and Carol were standing on either side of the front door.

Lights flickered on somewhere inside the store, two dim strings. Carol shot Daryl a puzzled look. He figured they were battery backed-up emergency lights, but he was surprised they'd lasted this long. The people inside must have used them sparingly.

Tense and clutching their weapons, they waited a good five minutes. Rifle in hand, a kid came outside to investigate. He looked to be a few years younger than Carl, maybe twelve or thirteen. The tip of Carol's AR-15 was against his head in a mere second.

"Drop your gun and turn around slowly. We're marching inside," she told him. "When we get in there, call out the rest of your men, and tell them to drop their weapons."

Daryl picked up the boy's discarded rifle and holstered his handgun. Carol marched the kid, who had raised his hands, into the store, with Daryl and Brother Lawrence flanking her. It was dark inside except for the two lines of emergency lighting glowing from the ceiling, but that provided enough light to make out that the merchandise was still pretty much intact. Nothing had been smashed or toppled. The place may have been inhabited, but it had not been looted.

"Call them out," Carol ordered.

"There's no one to call out," the boy said. "It's just me. Please, don't kill me. Just take what you need and go."

"You expect us to believe you've held this place all by yourself?" Daryl asked.

"It wasn't just me at first. My mom, my dad, my older brother. But my dad died. Heart attack, I think. And then he..."

"Turned?" Carol asked. "Became a walker?"

"Is that what you call them?" the boy asked.

"Why? What do you call them?" Daryl scanned the store for signs of life.

"Monsters," the kid answered. "Why would you call them walkers? Because they walk? That's stupid. _We_ walk."

"We're not interested in an argument from semantics right now," Brother Lawrence said. "What happened to the rest of your family?"

"We didn't know how it worked. We thought you had to get bit to turn. So we left his body. We were going to take care of it the next morning. But he turned, bit my mom and my brother in their sleep." His voice was thick when he spoke, as though he was holding back tears. "I woke up in time. I didn't get bit. I killed him. And…eventually I had to kill them too. "

Daryl eyed him with suspicion. "Y'all just went to sleep and slept like babies the night your father died?"

"My mother cried herself to sleep."

"And you and your brother?" Daryl asked.

"We all fell asleep eventually," the boy answered. "Did _you_ stay up all night the night your father died?"

Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek. He'd left home for good around seventeen, years after his mother had died and Merle had jumped ship. The old man kicked the bucket five years later. He'd been dead a week before Daryl's cousin Wayne had stopped by his cabin to ask for some smokes and been greeted with a fouler than usual smell. It was another week before Wayne could track down Daryl and Merle to tell them. They never found out how he'd died, but Daryl's money was on alcohol poisoning.

"When did this happen?" Carol asked.

"I don't know," the boy said. "I don't have any sense of time any more. Three or four months ago, maybe. It's just been me for a long while."

"And how'd ya hold this place?" Daryl asked.

"My brother was going to work here. The grand opening was scheduled for two days after it all started. He had a key already, and we all came here, kept it locked. The first time people showed up, we took them in. A couple of men. But they tried to rape my mom, and my dad killed them."

"And they didn't turn?" Daryl asked sharply. The kid had just claimed he didn't know they turned before his dad died.

"My dad shot them in the head when he killed them, so…no. Anyway, after that, my dad said no one gets in. It's ours. We hold it. Like a base. So when people came, we'd go up to the roof, and we'd scare them off, if we could."

"And if you couldn't?" Daryl asked.

"We'd pick them off. One by one."

"Why are you such a good shot?"

"My dad was a firearms instructor. Been shooting since I was eight."

"How many walkers you killed?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know. A dozen, maybe."

"How many men've you kill?" .

"Me personally?"

Daryl nodded.

The boy swallowed. "Just three. I tried to scare them off first. I really tried."

"Let's see if you're telling the truth." Daryl looked at the monk. "Me and you, we're gonna sweep this place." He nodded to Carol. "Stay here. Keep your gun on the boy." He shouted up to the second floor and across the store. "We don't want no trouble. We just want a few things. But my friend's got a gun to your friend's head. If you shoot at us - she'll kill him."

 **[*]**

Rick looked down at Judith lying on her belly in her crib, her little butt in the air. He wanted to stroke her soft hair, but he didn't want to wake her. He tried not to think about the fact that, biologically speaking, she was Shane's.

Michonne was right. You weren't born into a family in this world. You forged one.

[*]

Daryl and Brother Lawrence began to make the rounds about the Cabela's, sweeping it with the beams of their flashlights, because despite the emergency lights, there were many darkened areas. They looked behind clothing racks and counters, inside closets and bins, and swept the bathrooms. In the storage food section, which included canned and freeze-dried meals, Daryl scanned the shelves. "If a family of four been living here for over a year, why ain't more of this food gone?"

"But look." Brother Lawrence flashed a beam on the opposite shelves, which held water bottles. "They've drunk most of the water."

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "Ain't much left. Only enough to keep the boy for another month or two, maybe."

"Lucky for him we found him when we did."

The monk was already talking as though it was a given they were taking the boy to Alexandria. Daryl wasn't sure about that yet. He didn't know a damn thing about this kid, other than the lies he was currently spinning to save his own ass.

They walked through the halls of the cave-like aquarium. The water inside the tanks had grown dark green from algae and was practically opaque even when Daryl shined his flashlight on it, but he could make out enough to see there were no fish.

"This is why they barely touched the storage food," Brother Lawrence said. "They lived off these fish for months."

"Maybe for a week," Daryl muttered. "But no way they could maintain these tanks for long without a major power source. Fish would have died and gone bad."

Next, they explored the country kitchen section, which appeared to have been picked over. "Probably ate a lot of the food from here, too," the monk suggested.

Daryl swung his beam over the remaining jars of sauces, salsas, and condiments past picnic baskets to a display hutch. "Carol's gonna love this." There were wooden utensils, pans, pots, three remaining bags of oats and..."Oh, yeah. Apple butter."

They found a deep freezer that was plugged into a dead, portable battery power source. There were several such dead portable batteries scattered around it, and the freezer had defrosted, leaving a discolored, puddle-shape splotch on the ground. Daryl shined the flashlight inside and found it empty except for a mildewed crust on the bottom and a few discarded food wrappings. "Ah, man. They feasted on venison sausage for weeks. Probably froze the fish in here for later, too. Kid had a plush life."

"Yeah, real plush," Brother Lawrence said. "Having to kill his entire family."

"Dunno he's tellin' the truth 'bout that."

"You have a suspicious mind, Daryl."

"Yeah? I wonder why that is."

"Sometimes you've got to be willing to trust people," Brother Lawrence told him as he looked behind a sales counter. "You trust Carol, don't you?"

"Course I trust Carol. Carol's _earned_ my trust."

They began walking toward the camping section, checking everything along the way. "And what about me?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Have I earned your trust?"

Daryl swiveled his flashlight into the monk's eyes. Brother Lawrence blinked. "Shhh!" Daryl ordered. "Can't have a conversation while we're sign cutting."

They walked on.


	9. Chapter 9

In the camping section, Daryl and Brother Lawrence unzipped every display tent. It looked like three of the tents had been lived in. Daryl picked up an article of clothing from each tent and sniffed.

"What are you looking for?" Brother Lawrence asked.

"Smell this." He shoved a pair of long johns under the monk's nose.

The monk jerked his head back. "Just tell me what you smell."

"It's been worn recently. The clothes in the other two tents haven't. This tent is being lived in. Those other two haven't been lived in for months."

"So that matches the boy's story. Mom and Dad shared a tent. The older brother had one. This is the tent the boy is using."

"Yeah, it fits," Daryl agreed and shined the flashlight on the long johns, which were a pale pink. "Kid's been alone so long he just grabs anything to wear. Doesn't even care if it's pink."

"Well, I wouldn't judge if I were you. You've been in company and you still don't seem to care if you wear the same pair of pants five days in a row."

Daryl shot him a peeved look. They kept looking, but they didn't find anyone else, so they returned to Carol and the boy.

"What did you do with their bodies?" Daryl asked. "Your family?"

"Drug them outside. Put them in one of the boats. Burned them."

Daryl nodded to Brother Lawrence, who went outside to investigate.

"Did you find any other signs of people?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

When the monk returned, he said, "They're there. Three bodies. Burned."

"Why didn't you bury them?" Daryl asked.

"Didn't want to spend that long out there. The monsters come out of those woods sometimes."

Daryl looked down at the boy's boots. Little wear. No bloodstains. His skin was pale, too. The boy clearly didn't spend much time outdoors. Maybe he really was telling the truth.

The kid looked at Brother Lawrence and asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

"No," Brother Lawrence answered. "We're not those sorts of people. In fact, we have a ca - "

Daryl coughed. He took the monk by the arm and drew him aside, and Carol followed. "Somethin' feels off to me," he told them. "Can't say what. Think we oughtta use those handcuffs, lock 'em up for the night while we're sleepin', just until we're sure we can trust 'em. Then in the mornin'…talk 'bout takin' him back with us."

Brother Lawrence sighed. Carol said, "I trust your instincts, but, Daryl, he's just a boy. And he's alone. Still, I agree we should lock him up for the night. Even if we trust him, he doesn't trust _us_ yet. He might try to kill us simply because he sees us as a threat."

They walked over to the boy again.

"What's your name?" Daryl asked.

"Andrew."

"Well, Andrew," Daryl said, "ya need to take a piss 'fore we lock you up?"

[*]

The bed squeaked as Rick settled in. He clicked the buttons on his watch to set the alarm for two a.m. and then rested it on the end table.

Michonne settled her head against his chest and snuggled in. "You have watch tonight?"

Rick murmured a yes.

"Do you think we'll ever stop having an around-the-clock watch?" she asked.

The only thing they'd shot outside that fence in weeks was walkers, and often they didn't even bother with those – not unless they were pressed against the fence. Otherwise, they were more like outdoor cockroaches than threats.

"I don't know," he said. "There may be more bad people out there."

"And there may be more good ones, too."

"The trick is knowing the difference." He kissed the top of her head and turned off the light.

[*]

They boarded up the Cabela's window they'd broken. The boy said he'd already had dinner, so they got him settled in for the night. They left him lying with one hand cuffed to a metal support pole in the hiking section, with a thick, lined sleeping bag to keep him warm. He fell asleep quickly – or pretended to.

Then they gathered some supplies - plates, cups, utensils, storage food, a kettle, and a propane stove - and settled into some chairs in the camping section to enjoy their dinner. After the meal, they heated up a kettle of water and made themselves hot chocolate. Daryl lapped up a few sips with his tongue and said, "This place is a gold mine. Not just the merchandise. We saw gas cans in storage for the display vehicles. Fifty gallons at least."

Brother Lawrence smiled. "You're welcome."

Carol blew over her cup. The steam lifted and curled. "We should have brought the camper."

"They got trailers in the front lot," Daryl said. "We'll attach one to the Outback."

"We can also get one of those carriers to put on top," Carol suggested.

Daryl nodded. "And I'll see if I can get one of those ATVs started. Drive behind y'all and free up more space in the Outback."

"Do you really need an ATV, pookie?" Carol asked. "You've already got a motorcycle."

Brother Lawrence chuckled. Daryl grunted and said, "Notice it's winter? Could come in handy."

"Yeah, that's why you want it." Carol smiled. "For practical reasons."

"I ain't saying they ain't fun." He slurped the hot chocolate.

"We need to talk about the boy," said Brother Lawrence, lowering his voice and glancing at the lump in the sleeping bag several feet away. "We _are_ taking him to Alexandria with us, aren't we?"

"What else can we do?" Carol asked. "He's alone. He's just a kid."

"He ain't just a kid," Daryl muttered. "Ain't no boy in a world like this _just_ a kid."

"Daryl," Carol said softly. "He's got no one, that boy. He's younger than Carl."

"Made the mistake of lettin' a man live before. Denise is dead 'cause of it. So's Aaron. So are a lot of other people."

"That's not why they're dead. That's not on you," she insisted. "And Dwight ended up helping us in the war. If you had killed him…" She shook her head. Dwight had died in the prolonged battle with the Saviors that followed the monk's slaughter of Negan, but not before switching sides and exposing the Saviors' vulnerabilities to the Alexandrians.

"We bring that boy," Daryl says, "and anything happens – "

"- I'll take responsibility," Carol insisted. "But we can't just leave him alone." She stood. "I'm going shopping for some jammies to sleep in tonight."

"I'll join you." Brother Lawrence rose.

Daryl took the nearest display sleeping bag and spread it out. He took off his boots and lay down on top of it, hands behind his neck, and gazed up at the exposed beams of the ceiling. He started making a list in his head of all the things he wanted to take. A new cross bow or two. Or three. A quiver and plenty of arrows. Replacement strings. And, yeah, he'd take that crossbow press the damn monk kept talking about. Boots. Storage food. Some clothes. As much propane as they could fit. Ammo. Lots of ammo. More guns. Walkie talkies. A generator, maybe? Fishing rods. Traps. Tackle. Seed.

They should pick up some gun powder and reloading equipment for Eugene, too. The geek had set up a couple of reloading benches in the garage of the house he shared with Sasha and Abraham and one of the refugee women from the monastery camp, but his equipment was all makeshift shit. Eugene could probably use that Hornaday Lock-n-Load press Daryl had seen.

Daryl smiled to himself. He was going to be fucking Santa Claus, driving home with a trailer full of gifts for all the good little girls and boys. Maybe they could even get one of those abandoned cars running, attach another trailer to it, each drive a separate vehicle, and caravan home.

 _Home._

It was still a strange word in Daryl's mind. He'd never really found anything he could quite hang that word on. He still wasn't sure he could.

A sleeping bag rolled out beside his. Carol sat down. He craned his neck to look at her.

"Like my jammies?" she asked.

She was wearing thick, flannel, pink camo pants and a matching long-sleeve top. Daryl had never understood the pink camo thing. That wasn't camouflage anywhere but Candy Land. He'd never had anything against a girl who wanted to hunt or shoot - hell, those girls on the cover of the _Blue Press_ catalog were hot as hell - but pink camo made him want to punch a fashion designer. "Looks comfy."

"You should get yourself some. You don't have to sleep in your clothes, you know."

"I'm a'ight."

She lay down beside him, situating one of the display pillows behind her head.

"I guess this means I get first watch?" the monk asked, dropping his cassock at their feet and then slumping down into a camp chair. He was wearing red and black checked flannel lounge pants and a fleece sweatshirt. "Look what I found." The monk held up a guitar. "It was part of a camping display, but it actually works."

"I told you we ain't wasting room on that."

The monk ignored Daryl and tuned the guitar. He began to strum something that sounded faintly familiar, and, soon enough, he was singing.

Daryl didn't want to admit it, but Carol was right about the man's voice. It was good. Rich. Powerful. Haunting even, or maybe that was just the lyrics:

 _I am a poor wayfaring stranger  
Wandering through this world of woe  
And there's no sickness, no toil or danger  
In that bright land to which I go…_

Daryl closed his eyes and tried not to hear the words, or at least not to feel them.

 _I'm going there to meet my brother,  
He said he'd meet me when I come,  
I'm only going over Jordan.  
I'm only going over home._

Daryl wondered if Merle was somewhere, anywhere, in some other dimension - if there really was such a place as heaven, and, if there was, if someone like Merle could ever make it through the gates. If someone like Daryl himself could.

 _I'm going there to meet my sister,  
I'm going there no more to roam,  
I'm only going over Jordan,  
I'm only going over home._

Images of Beth danced through Daryl's mind. If he'd ever had a baby sister, he'd want her to be like Beth. He recalled her gentle smile - the sound of her laugh – her delicate fingers on the piano keys in the mortuary, the flames flickering when they burned down that house together. If there was such a thing as a heaven, Daryl was sure Beth was there.

 _I'll soon be free from every trial.  
My body asleep in the old graveyard.  
I'll drop the cross of self-denial,  
And enter on my great reward._

After he'd repeated the chorus, first with _father_ and then with _mother_ , the monk stopped strumming.

Daryl swallowed. His throat felt dry.

"Beautiful," Carol murmured from beside him.

Daryl rolled on his side, away from Carol, and swallowed down the emotion that was beating at his breast. He lay there for a moment, trying to sleep, missing the way he and Carol had slept last night, her body pressed to his. Finally, he sat up. "Gonna take first watch," he told the monk.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, they uncuffed Andrew, fed him breakfast, and delivered the good news that they were taking him to Alexandria with them. Brother Lawrence described their community in inviting detail.

"No thank you," the boy said. "I'd rather stay here."

"My son," Brother Lawrence plead softly, "your family is dead. And the supplies here won't last you forever."

"This is my home now."

"You're alone," Carol told him. "If you get sick or injured, you have no one - "

"- I _like_ being alone," Andrew interrupted. "I know _how_ to be alone. Please, just take what you need and go!"

It was a miracle the boy had held this place for so long, Daryl thought, and if the men they'd run into the other day were any indication, there were still bandits roving these parts. Andrew was a fool not to accept their offer. Daryl walked off in frustration and began gathering supplies, while Carol and Brother Lawrence continued to attempt to convince Andrew to join them.

Daryl was picking out a crossbow in the archery section when Brother Lawrence approached him. "I can't persuade the boy to come."

"His choice," Daryl replied. "You want to force him?"

"No. But listen - we don't need the bottled water. We've got well water in Alexandria. So let's leave all that for the boy. And let's leave him most of the storage food. We'll only take some of it. That will give us more room for other supplies."

Daryl nodded. "But we take _all_ the seeds. He ain't growin' shit here."

It took a few hours to load up. They filled the entire backseat of the Outback, the hatch, the trailer, the carrier on top, and the ATV's rack bag. They couldn't get any of the abandoned cars to start, but they took the gas they'd found in storage, leaving the kid twenty gallons in case he needed to make a getaway.

"Are you certain don't want to go with us?" Carol asked him again. "This is your last chance to change your mind. We really do have a nice community, with other kids your age."

Andrew rubbed his wrist where the cuff had bound him last night. "No thank you."

 **[*]**

While out for her morning jog, Michonne passed the pond where Carl and Enid sat side-by-side on the short pier. She unzipped her windbreaker to let off some of the heat she'd worked up and waved. Enid waved back, but Carl pretended not to see her.

The teenagers had probably been watching the sunrise. It was certainly too cold to fish, and, even if it weren't, the pond was mostly empty of life these days. They fished primarily in the stream a mile outside the gates.

James Miller, one of the original Alexandrians, had been a sports fisherman in the old world, and he captured about two dozen fresh fish a month. The Alexandrians were lucky in the diversity of talents they had here – from engineers to hunters to fishermen to carpenters. The monks had brought with them gardeners and brewers. And Rick had brought a hunter in Daryl, a chef in Carol, and in…her? Michonne's skills as a lawyer were not much needed in this world. But in her, Rick had brought a _killer_ , and that was why she felt she needed to stay in shape, peace or no peace.

Michonne picked up speed.

[*]

"I feel bad leaving that kid behind," Brother Lawrence told Carol.

She was driving and kept glancing in the rearview mirror to keep an eye on Daryl on the ATV. "It wasn't our decision," she replied. "What were we going to do, bind and gag him and bring him with us? Besides, Daryl told me he wants to come back in two weeks for more supplies. We can offer to take him with us again then. Maybe he'll have changed his mind."

She turned on the windshield wipers to brush away the falling snow and picked up the walike talkie. "Wish you had a hat now?" she asked. Daryl had refused to wear that knit cap she'd given him, insisting it made him look like an idiot. "Over."

"I'm fine," came Daryl's reply. "Mind the road. Nearly ran over that walker. Over."

Brother Lawrence took the walkie from Carol. "I want to take a detour," he told Daryl. "There's an assisted living home five miles off the highway. I used to leave the monastery once a month to make calls there. It looks more like a small office building than a home, so people might not have thought to raid it for medicines. And we haven't gotten anything really good for Nadia yet. Over."

"Fine," Daryl replied. "But if'n ya try to pick up any books or guitars, I'll thrash ya. Over and out."

The monk put the walkie in the cup holder. "Daryl reminds me of a kid I used to mentor when I was a Big Brother in college."

"Yeah?" Carol asked. "Was he a good kid?"

"Ornery little bastard."

[*]

"How has your day been so far?" Michonne asked Rick. They usually met up at the house for lunch. Today, they were eating mostly out of cans and bags - a strange lunch of green beans, pork rinds, and dried apricots. There would be more fresh produce in the spring. For now, they only had the contents of the green house, which were divided across the community and strictly rationed.

"Helped Tom repair a plank in the fence." Tom Miller, one of the original inhabitants of Alexandria, was a master carpenter. "And then I helped Brother Matthew prepare plot 5 for spring planting. How about you?"

Judith gurgled and popped a cheerio into her mouth. Michonne smiled at her and thought she was fortunate, in a way, being born into this new world. Judith would never feel the loss of so many of the old things and ways. The limited variety they had - and the defensive way of life - would be all she'd ever known. "Went for a run. Practiced katana. Taught an art class at the school house."

"Does it feel weird?" Rick asked. "Not being at war? Not wandering?"

"A little bit," she admitted. "Weird...and good. It feels good. But I don't want to let it feel _too_ good. Because I'm afraid the moment I do..."

"...It'll all fall apart?"

Michonne nodded and put a soft green bean on Judith's tray. "Mhmmmm!" Judith exclaimed.

[*]

Though it was messy, it didn't take long to kill off the slow moving walkers in the common areas of the assisted living center. Most were behind closed doors. Brother Lawrence Carol and Daryl to a room where much of the medication was stored, and Daryl filled three-quarters of an empty backpack.

"Aren't you glad we brought him along now?" Carol asked.

"Still deciding," Daryl muttered as he zipped up the backpack.

"You have Nadia's list?" asked Brother Lawrence.

"I just took 'em all. Did ya not see me?"

"I know. I was merely wondering if we'd gotten her anything she really wanted."

"I'm sure she'll be grateful for all this," Carol assured him with a pat to his shoulder.

Daryl was ready to leave when Brother Lawrence insisted on visiting a particular room. Carol chose to stand guard by the front door and wait for them.

"Why?" Daryl asked as he walked down one of the halls, listening to the sounds of walkers thudding against the doors inside the rooms.

"I knew this gentleman in 22C. I used to read to him every time I visited. We were working our way through _War and Peace_."

"So ya wanna say hello?" Daryl asked.

Brother Lawrence stopped at 22 C and grabbed the door handle while Daryl readied the new crossbow he'd picked up at Cabella's. The monk threw the door open and Daryl shot the old walker in the head.

"Terribly sorry, Mr. Monroe," the monk said as he stepped inside and Daryl recovered his arrow.

"Mind telling me what we're here for?" Daryl asked.

"Mr. Monroe's secret stash of bourbon."

They recovered three full bottles from within a secret compartment beneath a pile of white t-shirts in the bottom drawer of the dresser. "His nephew smuggled it into him," the monk explained. "The nurses didn't know about it. He wasn't supposed to be drinking, because of his high blood pressure, and perhaps I should have told them, but, you know, when you're 89, I figure..."

Daryl turned the bottle of Woodford Reserve over in his hands. "This is good, ain't it?"

"You've never had it?"

"Never had the money. I was splurgin' if I got Old Crow." Daryl had never worked long at any job. He would change jobs every few months, going days or weeks or months in between without any honest income. He did the work Merle got him to do, and Merle always took some of the money. Merle argued he was entitled to it, since he'd always found the jobs and because he kept them afloat during lean times, mostly by gaming the welfare system. Daryl had never learned to do that, despite the fact that half of his childhood neighbors seemed to be living on food stamps and false claims of disability. There was something in it that just felt shameful to him, even as a kid. But he didn't turn down the various temporary roofs Merle put over his head or any of the food he put on the table. He only turned down the meth.

"Well, you're in for a treat." Brother Lawrence put the bottles in his backpack. He also grabbed four bottles of medication from the old man's bedside.

"Mr. Monroe have any smokes stashed away?" Daryl asked.

"No, but Mrs. Carrington did. 31 C."

As they walked back down the hall toward 31C, Daryl said, "I never knew monks drank so damn much."

"The Bible says that God causeth the grass to grow so that he may bring forth food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man."

"And what's it say 'bout bourbon?"

"Nothing, but that's probably one of those revelations God left for the Holy Spirit to make."

There were only two packs of cigarettes in Mrs. Carrington's underwear drawer, and they were lights, but Daryl figured beggars can't be choosers. He lit up as they rejoined Carol in the lobby.

"That's a nasty habit, you know," she told him.

"I thought you smoked sometimes," Daryl muttered around his cigarette.

"I meant not sharing."

He extended her the pack, and she shook her head. "On second thought, I should give up at least one vice."

"All 'bout balance," Daryl agreed. "Yin and yang or some shit."

Carol pointed toward the Christmas tree in the corner. "What's with that? It wasn't Christmas when this all started."

"They just leave it up all year round," Brother Lawrence told her. He looked up and pointed at the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. "See. They never bothered to take that down either."

Carol followed his gaze.

"You know," the monk said with a smile, "it's a sin to dishonor tradition."

"Is it?" Carol asked with a chuckle.

The monk took a step toward her. "It is."

Daryl watched Brother Lawrence lean in. As the monk kissed her, Daryl bit down on his cigarette, hard, until he could taste the tobacco. It was a quick, chaste, closed-mouth kiss, but it was on the lips, and Daryl didn't like it.

Carol was smiling with amusement when the monk pulled away. Brother Lawrence was smiling too - no, not smiling, _smirking_. But he wasn't smirking at Carol. He was smirking at Daryl.

"We better hit the road," Carol said and headed outside.

Brother Lawrence lingered, still smirking at Daryl.

"Sometimes I think yer just _tryin'_ to piss me off," Daryl told him.

"Now why would it irritate you if I kiss Carol?" One of the monk's gray-black eyebrows shot up. "Hmm?"

"Fuck off," Daryl told him, and walked outside, blinking against the sunlight. Carol was climbing into the driver's side of the Outback. There was an inch or two of snow on the ground now.

Brother Lawrence followed Daryl over to the ATV.

"You ain't riding with me on this," Daryl told him.

"I know. I just wanted to tell you, _he who hesitates is lost_."

"What?"

"It's the central theme of _Hamlet_. Of course, the other central theme is _look before you leap_. I suppose the trick is to strike a balance between the two. Yin and Yang, as you said."

"Hell ya blatherin' 'bout?"

"You've been looking a long time," the monk said.

"Lookin' at what?" Daryl asked.

" _Carpe diem_."

"Car hay who 'em?"

"Carpe diem," Brother Lawrence repeated. " _Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying: and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be a' dying_." He chuckled and patted Daryl on the shoulder before turning to walk toward the Outback.

"You're a fuckin' weirdo, ya know that?" Daryl called after him.

"Oh, I'm a weirdo, all right," the monk called back. "I'm just a celibate one."


	11. Chapter 11

The trio drove on until sunset and made camp in a cabin they could drive up to. When the fireplace was blazing, and they'd eaten some storage food they'd picked up at Cabela's, Brother Lawrence sat on the floor, leaned back against the couch, stretched his legs out under a wagon-wheel-shaped coffee table, and opened a bottle of Woodford Reserve.

Carol sat down beside him. He poured her a finger in a camp cup and pushed it over to her. Then he poured himself one. Daryl sat down on the other side of the coffee table, his back to the fire. The monk poured and pushed another cup across the table top. Daryl took a sip, rolled it on his tongue, swallowed, and hissed. "Damn. That _is_ good."

Carol thought of the first time she'd tasted decent alcohol, something other than the cheap booze boys had plied her with when she was young. Her niece had paid her a visit with a bottle of expensive tequila she'd picked up on a spring break trip to Mexico. Ed hated Carol's niece, probably because she'd been the first person in Carol's family ever to go to college. But Ed wasn't home that night - he'd gone on a "boys' trip" - and Sophia was finally sleeping _through_ the night. Mary Jane had cracked open that bottle and insisted they play this stupid drinking game called _I never_. They'd gotten drunk and giggly, and it was the most fun Carol had enjoyed in years. "Let's play I never," she said.

"Hell no!" There was a sharp edge in Daryl's voice that surprised her. She'd heard that tone plenty of times, but she hadn't been expecting it in response to her suggestion.

"What's eating you?" the monk asked.

"Sorry," he muttered in Carol's direction. "It's just...Beth made me play that game with 'er once."

"Oh," Carol said softly. She didn't know what had happened between Beth and Daryl in those days following the collapse of the prison. She couldn't imagine it was anything sexual – Beth was young enough to be his daughter - but it was clear the girl had come to mean something very special to him. "Wait. You played a _drinking game_ with _Beth_?"

"She just wanted to try it. Ain't never had a drink."

The monk set down the cup of bourbon from which he'd just sipped. "Who is Beth, if you don't mind me asking?"

"She was one of us," Carol said. "For a long time. But she died."

Pain flickered in Daryl's eyes, and his jaw was set tight, so Carol wasn't expecting what he said next: "Aw hell, let's do it. I'll play. Play to honor Beth."

"Good," the monk said, "because I don't know Beth – but I know she would have wanted you to enjoy yourself instead of acting like a sullen boil on the king's backside."

"Hell ya get these phrases?" Daryl asked.

The monk tapped his forehead.

"You want to go first?" Carol asked Daryl.

"Yeah," he said, looking right at her. He seemed to be trying to come up with something that would force her to drink. "I never had sex with a man."

Carol sipped. So did the monk. They both stared at him. "Wait!" Brother Lawrence exclaimed. "Am I supposed to drink if I _have_ done it or if I _haven't_ done it?"

"You're supposed to drink if you _have_ ," Carol said.

"Oh. I got confused. I shouldn't have drunk. I've never actually played this game. I've just heard about it."

"Mhmhm," Daryl murmured. "Or maybe it just got lonely in the monastery."

The monk ignored his quip and leaned in to whisper to Carol, "Let's get Daryl. I never got less than an A in high school. How about you?"

Carol smiled, pulled away, looked at Daryl, and said, "I never got less than a B in high school."

"Were y'all conspiring?" Daryl asked before he sipped.

Carol leaned over and whispered her idea to the monk, who then said, "I've never killed more than two squirrels in one day."

Daryl shook his head and sipped. "A'ight. Let me think of something to get you both." He ran his fingertip around the rim of his cup. "I ain't never sat through an entire church service."

"Really?" Carol asked. "Not even for a wedding?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Not even for your mother's funeral?"

"Didn't have a funeral. Had a wake. My daddy got wasted and then wandered away for two days. Probably busy screwin' his girlfriend."

Carol felt the urge to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, but she knew it would embarrass him, so she just drank. So did the monk.

Brother Lawrence poured a bit more in each of their cups. Then he whispered in Carol's ear. She whispered in his. "Okay," Carol said. "I've never had sex with a woman."

"Already did that one," Daryl complained.

"No," Carol said. " _You_ said you'd never had sex with a _man_. This one's different."

Daryl drank. He peered at Brother Lawrence, who was not touching his cup. "Not even _before_ you was a monk? Not even with your _longbow skills_?"

Brother Lawrence shook his head. He leaned toward Carol.

"Nah," Daryl said. "Nah-ah! You come sit next to me, brother. No more of that."

The monk grudgingly obliged. When he was next to Daryl, he said, "I guess since we're both on this side, we should conspire against Carol now."

"Should," Daryl agreed, "'cause I'm just a mean drunk."

Carol began to regret suggesting the game. She was careful about not letting her emotional guard down, and alcohol had a way of lowering inhibitions. "I don't want you boys tag teaming me." She didn't realize how dirty it sounded until Daryl looked abruptly at the table, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

The unembarrassed monk let out a belly-rolling laugh. "Why ever not?" he asked, "We're good-looking fellows, aren't we? Well, I mean, Daryl _would_ be. If he'd just get a haircut and take a shower."

 **[*]**

"You've been out late," Michonne observed when Carl came inside the house. Rick was upstairs checking on Judith, who had awoken with a wail.

Carl shrugged and eased down in the chair before the fireplace. They didn't have central heat – the power restrictions prevented them from turning that on or the A/C - but they did have the fireplace and space heaters as needed. He unzipped his coat.

Michonne smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Hanging out with Enid?"

"No," he grumbled. "She had something better to do, apparently." Carl tossed his gloves on the table. "Sometimes I'm not sure she even likes me. I think she's just with me because the next youngest guy in Alexandria is like 27."

"She likes you. She's just a teenage girl, and she's not even quite sure who she is yet. I remember being that age."

"Yeah, well, it's a different world. She should figure it out." Carl stood up and left his coat in a pool on the armchair.

[*]

Daryl studied Carol across the wagon-wheel coffee table. He wondered what kind of drunk she was. He'd never seen her drunk. They'd had all that wine down in the CDC tomb, but he couldn't remember her drinking more than a glass or two. Of course, Sophia had still been with them back then. Carol probably wasn't about to get wasted in front of her daughter.

He _could_ say, "I never had a kid," and she'd have to drink and he and the monk wouldn't, but that reminder would probably make her feel bad. He _could_ say he never got smacked around by a lover, but that would be cruel, and letting his daddy smack him around wasn't much better.

"I never..." He scratched his chin and thought. "I never had anyone say _I love you_ to me." That should do it. If Ed hadn't said it to her, at least her mother or Sophia must have. "Includin' family." Oh, yeah, he had her there, he thought. He was gloating a bit until he realized that they were both looking at him like they felt sorry for him.

The monk took a long, slow sip. So did Carol. Brother Lawrence put a hand on Daryl's back and leaned in. "I love you, Daryl," he whispered.

Daryl shook him off. "Good Lord. Ya ain't barely had three ounces."

"I'm drunk on the Holy Spirit."

"Yer turn, Carol," Daryl said, wishing like hell he'd come up with a different _I never_.

She seemed to sense his discomfort, because she quickly offered her next line: "I've never had bourbon before tonight."

"Really?" the monk asked after he'd sipped. "You take to it like a fish to water."

Daryl sipped and glanced at the monk, who seemed to be considering before he said, "I've never worn a dress."

Carol sipped. "Are we going to finish this entire bottle tonight?"

"It _would_ lighten my backpack," the monk said. "It's your turn, Daryl."

"I never finished high school."

The monk and Carol both sipped. Carol blinked and chuckled a little to herself. It was clearly going to her head. "I never French kissed a girl."

"Ya can't keep doin' those," Daryl complained.

"Sure I can," Carol told him. "Last one was sex. This one's different."

Daryl shook his head and sipped.

So did the monk.

"Ah," Daryl said, "so you _did_ get at least a little action before you took your vows."

"Who said it was _before_?" Carol asked.

"Women _are_ turned on by the unobtainable." Brother Lawrence winked at Carol. Daryl glowered. The monk turned his cup in his hand and then announced, "I never menstruated."

"This is completely unfair," Carol complained. "I'm the only girl."

"Drink up," Daryl told her.

She did.

 **[*]**

Rick draped an arm around Michonne and put his feet up on the coffee table. "What has Carl in such a snit?"

"He wanted to hang out with Enid tonight but she was busy."

"Busy with _what_?" he asked.

"Probably something she made up to show him she's in charge of deciding when and whether they're together."

Rick chuckled. "A woman's always in charge of that."

Michonne scoffed. "Hardly. It's not like I've never been dumped in my life." She settled against his side.

"Well, I've never dumped anyone."

"Really?"

"Lori was my high school girlfriend. We got married when we were 19 and 18."

" _Really_?" Michonne peered up at him. It probably shouldn't surprise her, given how old-school Rick was in so many ways, but it _did_ surprise her. "How _long_ were you married?"

"We were married nine years before we had Carl. We both wanted to work full-time, save up before we had a kid. When she quit to stay home with him when he was a baby, we almost had the house paid off. Did by the time Carl was four. So we started putting the mortgage money toward his college fund." He laughed and shook his head. "And now…he's just going to the School of Hard Kocks. All that planning. For nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," she assures him. "It taught you to plan. Which is what you do now, as Chairman of the Council. Planning is what we _need_ now."

Rick was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, softly, "Why? How many boyfriends did you have?"

She turned her eyes back to the fireplace. "Is this when we discuss our sexual histories? Maybe we should have done that _before_ we had sex?"

"Better late than never."

"Well…" She put a hand on his knee. "There was Andre's father. Mike." Rick's free hand fell over hers and he squeezed, maybe because he could feel the tension in her when she mentioned her lost son. Michonne spent months trying to bury that memory. But she can talk about it now, a little bit, with him. "There was my first serious boyfriend, in high school. LeAndre."

"You named your son after your first boyfriend? How did Mike take that?"

"He didn't know. After LeAndre, there were four men in college and one in law school before I met Mike."

Rick was strangely still beside her.

"Does that sound like a lot to you?" she asked.

"I think it's the statistical average," he said.

Michonne laughed.

"I just hope I'm your last." Rick looked down her, and she smiled up at him.

[*]

They did finish the entire bottle, and Carol was giggling when she finally lay down on her sleeping bag. It was unraveled and lying flat on the floor and she tried, futilely, to zip it up, which only made her giggle more.

Daryl lay down on top of his own sleeping bag next to hers. "Lord, he's loud." The monk, passed out on the living room couch several feet away from them, had started snoring.

"He's not that loud," Carol said. "I think you're just drunk."

"I can't be drunk on less than a third of a bottle of bourbon. Ain't a lightweight like you."

"Well, when was the last time you had more than one drink in a night?" The monks had brought gallons and gallons of beer with them from the cellars of the burned-out monastery, but it was rationed – three pints per adult per week.

Daryl turned on his side and looked at her. "That night with Beth."

Carol felt a strange pang. What was it? Jealousy? How ridiculous. She shook off the feeling. "Beth was special," she said.

"Yeah," he said, his voice raspy, his eyes light pools in the fading flames of the dying fire behind them. "She was."

"You miss her."

"Think maybe she was an ideal," he said.

"Well, I'm certainly not that. Ed reminded me of that every day of our marriage."

"Ed was an asshole and a liar. Meant an ideal in my head. Like...uhmm...Innocence."

"Unlike me," Carol muttered. "I've done things. You know I've done things."

"We've _all_ done things," Daryl said.

"Not Beth." Carol's head was starting to spin. "Pretty, perfect, pert little Beth."

"You feelin' okay?" Daryl asked.

"It's cold. I wish I could zip up this damn bag."

He slid off of his sleeping bag and onto hers, where he lay on his back. He grabbed his unzipped bag and laid it over them both like a blanket.

She rolled on her side against him, draped an arm over his waist, and rested her head on his chest. He didn't move away. She could feel herself fading in and out of sleep, her body jerking slightly with each sudden awakening. It struck her as funny, the way the body did that, and she giggled again. "Wanna screw around?" she asked, in that sarcastic, joking tone she'd perfected by now.

Carol waited for him to respond with a snorted _pffffft_ or to say _Stahp!_ as he usually did.

"Yeah," he murmured, "Yeah I do."

Surprised, she froze in place. She blinked and processed his words. Then she slowly raised her head to peer at him. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell. He was sound asleep.

Carol's head spun as she lay it back down. In seconds, she was out.


	12. Chapter 12

Daryl awoke at daybreak with a raging hard-on. Last night he'd dreamed that Carol had asked him to screw around and he'd said yes. She'd taken off all her clothes while the flames in the fireplace glowed bright red and green and the monk snored to the tune of "The Carol of the Bells." She'd had a Cherokee rose covering the nipples of each of her pert breasts. He'd kissed his way down the valley between them and then spied a piece of mistletoe resting on her naval, one leaf pointing to the inviting triangle beneath. "It's tradition," she'd said and started pushing his head down, down down...It had been a strange dream, to say the least.

Daryl now closed his eyes and willed his hard-on to settle the hell down. It did not obey. He raised his head slightly and peered down at Carol's head on his chest. Her hand was resting on his rib cage. Every so slowly, he eased himself out from under her. The last damn thing he needed was for her to wake up and see the massive bulge in his pants. He'd already embarrassed himself once that way.

Each time she stirred, he froze in place. Eventually, he worked his way free. By the time he had the coffee made in the stainless steel campfire coffee pot he'd snagged from Cabela's, his erection had - thank God - subsided.

[*]

Rick rubbed his eyes as he answered the door. Brother Stephen stood before him with a basket full of freshly folded laundry. "Special delivery," the grimacing – or perhaps smiling – monk said.

Rick thanked him and took the basket. Two of the monks – Brother Stephen and Brother Lawrence – lived in Daryl and Carol's house. The other six shared a single house that housed both of the functioning laundry machines. They did laundry for the entire camp and then hung it out to dry, and then Brother Stephen delivered it.

Rick brought the basket up to the bedroom he shared with Michonne. She was already gone somewhere. When he put his underwear away, something rattled and rolled down into the corner of the drawer – a diamond engagement ring.

He tucked the ring under a pair of fresh underwear and then lay the folded shirts on top of that. He wasn't sure if he should pop the question. Michonne had never married Andre's father, after all, and she had called marriage an "ancient tradition" when he'd hinted about it.

Michonne seemed content in their relationship, a settled part of their little family. Rick didn't think she was going anywhere. Still, he'd feel better if she would agree to a formal arrangement. And yet…he was afraid to ask.

Rick slid the drawer shut.

[*]

When Carol stepped outside that morning, after coffee and two aspirin each, there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground.

"Oh, shit," Daryl muttered from behind her. "Did anyone think to get shovels at Cabela's?"

"I did." Brother Lawrence walked past him toward the trailer. "Because I'm not from Georgia. I've seen snow."

"Snows in Georgia," Daryl insisted.

"Remember the blizzard of 1983?" Carol asked him.

"Hell yeah." Daryl nodded. "Almost seven inches."

"I didn't have to go to 8th grade for a week," Carol said.

The monk handed Carol a shovel. "Well, we're leaving in half an hour."

While Carol shoveled, her muscles groaning beneath the work and the temperature seeming to rise beneath her coat, she thought about what Daryl had said last night. She stole glances at him as he tossed snow over his broad shoulder, but he didn't say a word.

When the work was done, Carol handed her shovel over to Brother Lawrence and leaned back against the Outback with a sigh. Daryl gave Brother Lawrence his shovel as well, and the monk headed for the rear of the trailer. Carol put her hands in her pockets and looked at Daryl, who finally spoke. But what he had to say had nothing to do with his words last night. "Ain't you glad I got the ATV now?"

He leaned back against the Outback next to her. Their shoulders almost touched. She turned her head slightly to peer at him. "So are you just not going to say a word about last night? Is that your plan?"

"About the drinkin' game?" asked Daryl, clearly confused.

So he didn't remember saying he wanted to screw around. Maybe he'd been talking in his sleep. Maybe he hadn't even _said_ it. Maybe she'd been _hearing_ in her sleep. "Yeah," she said. "It was pretty stupid of us, wasn't it?"

He shrugged and began walking toward the ATV.

"You're driving, Friar Tuck," Carol told the returning monk as she tossed him the keys.

Brother Lawrence opened the front passenger door for her and rolled his hand. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

Once they were driving, Carol adjusted the heater vents so they were blowing on her. They'd been driving twenty minutes when Brother Lawrence asked, "So what's the story between you and Daryl?"

"What story?"

"The oldest story ever told. Boy meets girl."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on," he said. "I'm a monk. I have to live vicariously through _someone_. Maggie and Glenn are too goofily sweet. Rick and Michonne are too sickeningly good-looking a couple to be of any real interest. But you two...you two are fascinating. Like Abelard and Heloise."

"Who?"

"On second thought…maybe I shouldn't tell you that story. He ends up a monk and she ends up a nun, and somewhere in there he gets castrated."

Carol shook her head and looked out the window. "Never a dull moment with you, Larry."

[*]

Michonne leaned one arm against the open drawer of the brewery / storehouse and crinkled her nose. It smelled like a cheap bar in here. In her other hand she held a brown glass growler.

Brother William looked up from his work. He had some kind of stick inside of a barrel, as if he was taking a reading. His thick hair was white and wavy and there were crow's feet around his eyes, but his cheeks had a babyish smoothness to them. "May I help?" he asked.

"Just here to pick up our rations for the week. Nine pints."

Brother William put down his tool, came over, and took the growler from her hand. "Six pints, I believe. You have two adults."

"What about Carl?" she asked.

"Carl's fourteen. The Council agreed the drinking age is sixteen."

Michonne flashed a smile. "We can help him drink it."

Brother William chuckled. "Nice try." He went over to one of the tapped kegs and filled the growler, leaving only two inches of space toward the top. "That might be eight pints." He closed one of his green eyes and winked. "Don't tell the Chairman I fudged."

[*]

On the trip home, the trailer got stuck twice and they had to stop to dig out the wheels. The accumulation of snow grew sparser as they neared home, receding to eight and then six and finally four inches. They reached Alexandria in the afternoon. Sasha and Abraham pulled the gates open, and Daryl roared in on his new ATV, the Outback and trailer close behind.

Daryl would never admit it, but he loved the way the people of Alexandria flocked around him, as if he were a great warrior returning from the tribal hunt. His chest swelled with pride when he dismounted the ATV to the clapping of a dozen Alexandrians, who were beginning to swarm the trailer to see what was inside. He suppressed his smile as the kids - Ethan, Jonathan, and Kendra - ran leaping on his heels like puppies, asking, "What you get? What you get?"

He hunkered down on his haunches in the snow and looked Ethan in the eye. "Got you your own bow, kid. Just the right size for you." He tussled the boy's reddish-brown hair.

When he stood, Rick was walking toward him, shaking his head and grinning. He reached out a hand to Daryl, and they clasped in a manly shake. "Brother," Rick said, "Holy shit, man, it looks like you hit the motherload."

"Brother Lawrence deserves the credit. He was the Moses leadin' us to the Promised Land."

The monk drew up behind Daryl and clapped him on the shoulder. "But Daryl was our Samson. Except he would never let a woman shorn his locks and unman him, right, Daryl?" He winked at Daryl's confused expression and then turned to Rick. "Where's Nadia?"

"In the infirmary. You'll be glad to know she's started eating again."

Brother Lawrence nodded and hurried down the street. Behind them, the trailer was being unloaded and items sorted for transport to the pantry and arsenal and greenhouse. Daryl reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a small bag. "Got somethin' for ya."

Rick took the bag and turned it over to read it. "Dark-chocolate-covered pomegranate. Oh yes. Michonne is going to love this!"

"And I got a little something for us." He opened his jacket to reveal a bottle of bourbon strapped inside.

Rick's eyes widened. "An _entire_ bottle? Where'd you get it?"

"Brother Lawrence found two." No need to tell Rick they drank one already. "Snagged this one when he wasn't lookin'." Daryl and Rick had grown closer these past few weeks. It wasn't that Daryl hadn't had friends before, but they were always Merle's friends. Guys he'd hung out with. He hadn't actually _liked_ any of them. Rick was the first friend he'd ever had of his own. Well, the first male friend, anyway. Carol was the first _friend_ he'd ever had. But he had trouble thinking of her as a friend, because she was something more than that, something he couldn't quite describe or put a word to.

"Come over to my house in about an hour," Rick said. "We'll crack it open."

 **[*]**

Rick had two glasses already waiting on the end table when Daryl came over, plopped down on the couch, and set the bottle of bourbon with a clink on the wood. As Rick poured, Daryl swung his grubby boots up on the coffee table. Rick wasn't about to ask him to take them down. He'd just clean up before Michonne got back.

"We ain't havin' more than a couple," Daryl warned as Rick handed him a glass. "Got to save plenty for Carol."

Rick poured himself a glass. They sipped, hissed, and leaned their heads back against the couch. Rick put his feet up, too, and said, "Don't tell Michonne."

"She got you whipped already?"

"Aw, man, she's got me so I don't even _care_ if I am."

"She's too much woman for ya."

Rick could tell Daryl was about to rib him something awful, so he said, "Maybe. I mean..." He peered over the back of the couch just to double-check that no one was around. "It's probably not appropriate for me to say so, but..." He nodded. "She's a _beast_ in bed."

"I know," Daryl said.

Rick swung his feet off the coffee table and sat up straight. "What do you mean, you _know_?"

Daryl smirked. "Well, ya know….'fore y'all were together. All those overnight trips we took back at the prison, huntin' for the Governor…"

"Fuck you!" Rick said with half a smile. "I know nothing happened there. You aren't exactly her type."

"Fun to rile ya up though."

Rick chuckled and sipped. He stretched his arm across the back of the couch. "Let me ask you something. Did you give my son a couple of _Playboy_ magazines?" A half hour ago, Carl had scurried past him, head ducked in the hallway, with a couple of rolled up magazines in one hand, and disappeared in his room. Rick had heard the attic door creaking open, made an educated guess as to what the magazines contained, and surmised that Carl was hiding them in his secret lair above.

"Every kid needs a cool uncle." Daryl sipped his bourbon. "You ain't mad 'bout that, are you?"

"It just reminded me, once again, that we needed to have _the talk_."

"He's probably figured it out by now," Daryl said.

"Not the _biology,"_ Rick said _. "_ I mean the talk about respecting women. About how men and women are different. About having realistic expectations and understanding the differences between fantasy and reality and all that."

"Ah. Hell, my parents never talked to me 'bout _none_ of that."

"Neither did mine," Rick told him. "Which is why I want to. They didn't even talk to me about the birds and the bees. I had to learn about that in school. How'd you learn?"

"We lived in a one-bedroom trailer 'til I's five."

"Oh."

"Then we got the cabin, thank God. And when I's seven, we even got runnin' water."

"So…" Rick glanced around at the McMansion they were sitting in. "This world is actually an upgrade for you?"

"Guess you could say that." They drank quietly for a moment, and then Daryl said, "Listen, I want to go back to Cabela's, in two weeks, maybe. Get us some more supplies."

"I'll come with you."

"Nah. Yer needed here. Wanna take the monk and Carol again."

"I thought you couldn't stand the monk?"

Daryl shrugged. "I can't, but he knows that Piedmont area like the back of his hand."

"All right, then, whatever you think is best. I defer to you. I'd be a fool not to, with what you brought back."

"What if this next time I brought back a boy?" Daryl told Rick all about Andrew.

"What makes you think he'll want to come this time?" Rick asked.

"Dunno that he will. But if he _is_ still there and he _does_ change his mind, are you a'ight with it?"

"Like I said, Daryl, I defer to you. When you're out there on those runs, you're in charge. And while you're here, you're my right-hand man."

Daryl looked humbled. He probably wasn't used to being anyone's right-hand man. That wasn't what he'd been to Merle. He'd just been a toadie.

They talked shop for a while: What needed to be repaired or expanded. How much they could increase the rations now. And there was relationship news as well, something about Spencer sleeping with Cora Robinson, who was Kendra's mom. "Cora's forty-six," Rick said. "That's some _literal_ Mrs. Robinson scenario right there."

"He ain't that young. And what makes ya think I care about any of this romance novel bullshit?"

"You know," Rick mused. "I can't help but feel bad for Carl in that whole romance department. I mean, he doesn't have a lot of options. It's either got to be Enid or Kendra."

" _What?_ Kendra ain't even twelve."

"I mean _years_ down the road. When Carl's twenty-one, Kendra will be eighteen."

"You think that far ahead?" Daryl asked. " _Seven years_ from now?"

"I try to." Rick knew this peace could end at any moment, that they could have to battle another herd, that they could run into murderers like the Wolves or extortionists like the Saviors, that fire or famine could drive them from their home. But he also knew that if they ever had any hope of a future, they had to begin to imagine one. And as he looked into the light brown liquid in his glass, and watched the surface ripple, he found he _could_ imagine it: a town and its people...still standing.


	13. Chapter 13

When Daryl went back to the house, he walked through the side yard toward the front door, but he paused before turning the corner because he heard Nadia and Brother Lawrence talking on the porch.

"So is _that_ why you weren't eating?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Not eating and then drinking all that vodka on an empty stomach? You were trying to kill it?"

"Don't judge me," came Nadia's hard voice.

"I'm not judging you."

"We didn't have any abortificants. I had to do something."

"So you miscarried?"

Daryl took a step backward. The snow crunched beneath his boot, loudly, and he froze.

"Yesterday," Nadia answered. "I know you think it's a sin, what I did."

"The sin was _Negan's_. I just want to help you, Nadia. I _love_ you."

"I know you do. But what we were doing - I mean, what we were _starting_ to do - I can't do that anymore. I just can't."

Daryl took another slow step backward and turned silently on his heels.

"I know you need time," came the monk's voice. "I know - "

"- time won't change my mind. That's over, Lawrence. For good. Just think of your vows."

Daryl made his getaway as quickly and as quietly as he could. He went around the back and through the kitchen door. Carol was baking. It was one of those things she's done to blend in at first, but Daryl was beginning to think she liked it. And he had to admit, she was damn good at it.

"Want to lick the spoon?" Carol asked.

"Hell yeah."

She handed it to him and then opened the oven and slid in a sheet of cookies. "Why didn't you come in the front?" she asked.

"The doctor and the monk are on the front porch."

"Making out?" Carol joked.

"No."

Carol looked at him suspiciously. "You know something," she said.

"I ain't the town gossip." He messily ran his tongue up and down the spoon, licking off every last fleck of battery goodness.

"That's really sexy. I'm surprised women aren't throwing themselves at you right and left."

"How ya know they ain't?" he joked back. And it was a joke. The women who had come onto him in his old life were mostly low-class waitresses, meth addicts, and girls trying to piss off their daddies. There'd been the occasional bored housewife, too, back when he was doing handy man work. Since everything went to shit, though, not a single woman had come onto him. Only the strong and clever women survived in this world, and they didn't want him. He wasn't Rick. Or Glenn. Or Abraham. Hell, he wasn't even Eugene. Even _Eugene_ had himself a girlfriend now, a semi-autistic woman the monks had taken into the monastery after they found her wandering the woods, alone and half-starving.

"You _are_ coming to the party, tonight, aren't you?" Carol asked. "It's kind of in our honor."

He made a noncommittal grunt.

She apparently took it for a yes. "Are you going to let me cut your hair before the big event? Impress your fans with a new look?"

"Can't. The monk says I'm Samson."

"What?" Carol asked.

"Hair's the source of my strength."

"I thought you never went to church."

"Don't have to go to church to know who Samson is." He put the spoon in the sink, turned the light on in the oven, and peeked inside. "How long?" he asked.

With a teasing smile, she said, "You're not getting any unless you actually come to the party tonight."

He flicked the light off. "Just a little taste."

"I'll tell you what. I'll give you a warm one straight out of the oven if you let me cut your hair."

"Nah. Can't let ya unman me."

Carol laughed. "You know, when I met you, you had short hair. And you were no wimp then either. So I don't think it really matters."

"Then why do ya wanna to cut it so damn much?"

Carol shrugged. "Maybe I think you look cute with short hair." She turned and began rinsing out the bowl she'd used to mix the batter.

Chewing on his thumbnail, Daryl watched her and wondered if she was any part serious.

 **[*]**

At least there was beer at the party. And Daryl got to hold Judith, who liked to twirl his hair around one of her little fingers, let it unravel, and laugh. Glenn told lame jokes, and Maggie let people rub her pregnant belly.

Eventually, Daryl handed off Judith to Michonne and headed to the food table. As he passed behind Brother Lawrence's chair, where the monk sat tuning his new guitar, he overheard Father Gabriel asking him, "Why don't we hold combined church services on Sunday? I realize we're not the same denomination, but it just makes more sense."

Brother Lawrence replied, "Would you be giving the sermon? Because I'm really more of a fan of the _brief_ homily."

Carol came up beside Daryl at the keg with her empty cup in hand. She was wearing that new dress she'd picked up on the road. Maybe Brother Lawrence was right. Hell, maybe it _did_ do something to her eyes. "No rationing the beer tonight," she told him. Daryl took the cup from her, refilled it, and handed it back."Glad you stopped by," she said. "Everyone's here."

"Don't see Morgan."

Carol looked around. "It's hard to believe there's someone more anti-social than you, but I guess there is."

"Don't see Eugene either."

"He's got some stomach thing," Carol said. "I'm going over to listen to Brother Lawrence play." She smirked. "Want to sing along?"

"Stop."

She chuckled and went and stood behind Brother Lawrence's chair.

Daryl had just snagged one of Carol's cookies from the table when Ethan's mother approached. He tried to remember her first name, but he couldn't.

"Thanks for the youth crossbow you gave Ethan," she said.

"Mhmhm," he murmured as he chewed.

"He's really taken a liking to you, ever since you started teaching the kids archery."

Daryl made an indecipherable grunt.

"Ever since his father died, you know, it hasn't been easy. For either of us."

She seemed to expect some kind of response, but Daryl didn't know what to say, so he took another bite of the cookie.

"Those monks do love to brew their beer," she said with a smile, tucking a strand of reddish-blonde hair behind her ear. "I don't drink myself. I mean, it's not because I used to be an alcoholic or anything." She laughed strangely. "And I'm not a religious freak either, trust me. I just…I don't like the taste. Do you like it? The beer they brew?"

"Good," he said, and felt like an idiot, like a goddamn caveman. _Beer good. Me like beer._

"Well," she said. "Nice talking to you," and she snatched a can of soda and walked quickly off.

Glenn drew up beside him and refilled his cup from the keg. "You know she was coming onto you, right?"

"What, _that_ woman?" Daryl asked.

Glenn shook his head and laughed. "I guess I can't criticize, though. The only reason I managed to get together with Maggie was because she just suddenly announced she was willing to have sex with me." He held up one of his hands in a gesture of surprise. "Oh. I probably shouldn't be telling you that. I'm not bragging or anything."

Daryl looked him up and down and sipped his beer.

"You ever have anything like that happen to you?" Glenn asked.

Once, when Daryl was twenty or so, he'd been fixing a clog in some pretty, suburban woman's kitchen sink, back when Merle had them working for that plumber friend of his. Daryl had just finished getting the pipe back together and was sliding out from under the sink when he spied a pair of bare feet with red painted toenails. He stood up slowly. That woman was standing there, stark raving naked. He wasn't quite sure what to do, so he set his wrench down on the counter and turned on the water. "'S workin' now, ma'am," he said.

She'd grabbed him by the tool belt, yanked him to her naked body, and asked, "Don't you want to fuck me?"

So he had. Right there, with her bent over the kitchen sink. He didn't last long, and she looked very disappointed that he hadn't lived up to the blue-collar fantasy she'd been playing out in her mind. He'd left in such a hurry he'd forgotten about the check, and Merle's buddy had been pissed off he hadn't collected and insisted he go right back to get the money. He couldn't bear the thought of doing that, so he'd made up the money from his own pocket and pretended she'd paid him in cash.

"Nah, Glenn," Daryl said. "My life ain't a Penthouse letter like yours."

"Well, mine's not really…" Glenn glanced at Maggie, who was sitting on the couch, one hand on her protruding belly, talking animatedly to Sasha. "Not really a Penthouse letter right now."

Daryl drained his beer, set the empty cup on the table, and walked away from Glenn to reclaim Judith from Michonne. That gave Michonne the chance to get up and dance with Rick on the wooden floor in a furniture-cleared area between the living room and dining room. Abraham and Sasha joined the dancing, too. Carl was _trying_ to urge Enid to dance, but she wasn't having it. Instead, the girl sat down on the hassock to listen to Brother Lawrence play, and Carl shared the space with her.

Daryl liked having the kid as an excuse not to talk to people. If he didn't know what to say to someone, he could always act like Judith needed his attention. He sat on a folding chair with the little girl in his lap. She snuggled in his arms for a moment, until she went suddenly limp and slid out from under them like a protester at a political rally. She began crawling at rapid speed straight toward the fireplace. She could walk now, a few wobbly steps at a time, but she preferred to crawl like lightening. "Whoa, there, Little Ass Kicker!" he called, and was about to stand and go after her when Nadia plucked her up and returned her to his lap. He was surprised to see her at the party. She'd barely spoken to anyone since moving to Alexandria, unless it was to examine or treat them.

"You call her Little Ass Kicker?" the doctor asked as she sat down in the empty chair beside him.

Daryl fished his keys out of the front pocket of his black, button-down shirt and handed them to Judith to play with. She promptly began to slobber all over the key chain. "Real name's Judith."

"I know. Brother Lawrence thinks maybe it's a portent of the future, that she'll live up to her namesake and deliver her people one day. You know, like in the Book of Judith, in the Bible?"

"Ain't really a Bible reader." Daryl made a silly face at Little Ass Kicker and she laughed and tried to put the keys on top of his head.

"Well," Nadia said, "It's not in the Protestant Bible. It's in the Catholic Bible. The story is that Judith delivers her people by sneaking into the tent of the enemy leader and then cutting off his head."

Daryl noticed Brother Lawrence looking at them from across the room. When he saw himself being noticed, the monk looked down at his fingers on the guitar.

"She takes the head back to her people to give them strength and courage," Nadia continued, "and their enemy is scattered. Many men try to woo her, but she remains unmarried the rest of her life."

Well, Rick oughta like that last part at least, Daryl thought.

"I wanted to say thank you for the medicines," Nadia told him. "They're really going to be helpful in the infirmary."

"Don't thank me. Thank Brother Lawrence. He's the one who took us to 'em."

Nadia looked across the living room at Brother Lawrence, and then her eyes quickly flitted away.

Daryl wasn't comfortable talking, so he stood with Judith in his arms. "Got to get this little ass kicker back to her brother."

He deposited Judith in the teenager's arms. Then he headed for the front door. He was pretty sure no one would notice him leaving, but Carol did glance at him from where she stood behind Brother Lawrence's chair. She shot Daryl a half-scolding, half-pouting look, and he shrugged apologetically as he slipped out the door.


	14. Chapter 14

"Daryl, wait."

He turned to see the doctor.

"Walk me to the infirmary, will you?"

"Uh…a'ight." He walked silently beside Nadia through the snow, his eyes on the ground.

They'd walked a block when she finally spoke again. "You don't like parties?"

"Mhmnuh."

"I used to love the ones we'd have at the monastery. Every Sunday night, we'd have sing-alongs. There'd be dancing and laughing and drinking and storytelling, too. It was an innocent time." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her long, black coat. "We'd become complacent. We weren't ready when Negan came. We can never be complacent again."

"Won't be," Daryl assured her.

"The monks just knelt there and did nothing while my brother Anton was beaten to death. While Negan took me."

Daryl jerked his head up. "Didn't do nothin'! Came and found ya. Rescued ya!"

Nadia swallowed.

"Yer alive today 'cause of Brother Lawrence."

"Am I?" she asked as they neared the door to the infirmary. "Am I alive?"

Daryl thought of the _Surviving Rape_ book the monk had picked up in the bookshop and looked away. "Brother Lawrence give you that book?"

"He did."

"Maybe you oughta read it." Daryl turned from the infirmary and walked quickly away, leaving Nadia to disappear alone inside.

The house was deserted when he got there. He smoked a cigarette on the front porch, tasting the crisp winter air along with the tobacco. When he'd put it out beneath his heel, he went inside and turned off all the lights people had left on. Good Lord, was no one energy conscious around here but him? They needed to conserve. They also needed to think about who would maintain the alternative power sources if their engineer died. Maybe that kid Jonathan could grow up to be an energy engineer. He liked taking things apart and putting them back together. Every kid - and hell, most of the adults, too - ought to have an apprenticeship. Maybe he'd make little Ethan his apprentice and teach him to hunt. He'd mention it to Rick. Rick was thinking long-term now, after all.

He climbed the stairs and walked to his room, where he switched the bedside lamp on low and lay down on top of his comforter, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Daryl wondered what to do with himself for the next fourteen days, until they returned to Cabela's. He supposed he'd do some more teaching at the archery range, maybe go on a couple of hunts in the woods. Take a few shifts on the wall. Still, it seemed there were too many days to fill.

What had he done in the old world? How had he spent all those endless hours? There had been hunting and finishing back then, too, of course, and the odd job when he needed cash – loading trucks, breaking rocks, trimming trees, stripping roofs, unclogging sinks – there'd been drinking and bars and TV, and women he'd only known for a night.

What had that life meant? It hadn't meant a damn thing.

Did this one?

"You left early."

Daryl jolted into a sitting position. Carol was standing in the open doorway of his room.

"Yeah…I…"

"You can only take so much socializing?"

He nodded.

"Can I come in?"

"Mhmmh."

She came and sat on the edge of his bed. She looked around his room. "So neat," she said.

"Expect a pigsty?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd make your bed."

"Didn't. Brother Stephen must of while we was gone. Guess he can't help hisself."

She chuckled. "He dusted all the baseboards in the living room, too."

"Why ain't you still at the party?" he asked.

"Saw you leave."

"So?"

"So…" She shrugged. "Ever feel like you don't belong in this place?"

"All the damn time."

She put her hand, palm-down, on the comforter beside his. "Well…sometimes, that's how I feel too."

"Thought you was better at pretendin'."

"I am," she said. "But sometimes I don't want to."

"Then don't."

She turned slightly to face him. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. Her fingers tickled his skin. She put her hand against the side of his face. "Why don't you let me cut that hair?"

Her hand felt good against his cheek. Daryl wanted to give her a reason to keep touching him. "Fine. Get yer scissors."

"Really?" she asked. "Are you serious?"

"Go get 'em."

[*]

"You're quite the dancer," Rick told Michonne as he followed her into the kitchen. She plucked a sliced piece of carrot from a plate, courtesy of the greenhouse, faced him, and nibbled on it. He watched her mouth closely, so she teased him by licking the tip of the carrot, which caused him to growl.

Michonne laughed and finished it off. "I had formal lessons," she told him. "Before law school. I figured I better learn, in case I ever had to go to a company ball or something. Why are you so good?"

"My big sister taught me."

Michonne blinked. "You had a big sister?" It wasn't something Rick had ever mentioned before. It amazed her, sometimes, to consider how little they knew about each other's former lives, their former selves. Of course, those were different people, in a different world. In the old days, you'd talk about all that stuff. It formed you, your past, made you who you were. But they'd all been remade in the furnace of the apocalypse. The last two years were more powerful than the first thirty.

"She died long before all this. Before Carl was even born." Rick clearly didn't want to talk about it, because he seized her hand and dragged her back to the dance floor. Brother Lawrence was on guitar, Brother Matthew on flute, and some of the other monks were singing. The tune was upbeat, and Abraham and Sasha were doing some kind of swing dance that looked a little strange given the man's bulk. Glenn and Maggie were just standing and swaying, way too slowly for the tune. It looked like maybe they'd just wanted a cuddle.

"What happened to Daryl and Carol?" Rick asked as they began to dance.

Maggie, overhearing him, quipped, "Probably found a room."

"I doubt those two will _ever_ find a room," Michonne told her with a smile.

"I give it six more months," Glenn said.

[*]

The water from the kitchen sink's spray faucet was warm against Daryl's head. It felt good, Carol's hands in his hair, rubbing in the conditioner. He almost didn't care that it smelled like cucumbers. His neck hurt a little against the stainless steel rim, but he ignored that and focused on the feel of her fingers against his scalp. "Mhmmm…."

"Too hot?" she asked.

"Nah. 's good."

She worked her fingers slowly and firmly through his hair. Eventually, she made him sit up and then dried his hair, squeezing and twisting and ringing it with a towel. He said _ow_ a few times when she was working the pick through, and she called him a baby. "If you can take being shot, you should be able to put up with a little combing."

"You're rough, woman."

"I'm as gentle as a doe."

"Well, we know ya got doe-like eyes."

She laughed. "Hey, Brother Lawrence knows how to flatter a girl. You should try it some time. My mamma always told me you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Ain't collectin' flies."

Carol grabbed the scissors and started with his bangs. When she leaned over him to do that, he could see straight down her dress. She had a sexy, lacy black bra on. It surprised him, that she would bother to wear something so damn impractical. Maybe she'd gotten it special to wear for Tobin, and she'd just kept wearing it after he died. Daryl frowned at the thought of Tobin's hands on her breasts. Then he imagined his own hands on them.

Carol pulled away. "I'm going to get Brother Stephen's clippers." The brothers kept their hair well-trimmed, all in the same, bland style.

Daryl couldn't believe how much hair Carol was sweeping up when it was all over. He ran his hand over his head, shaking out a few loose bits. He'd forgotten what short hair felt like. It felt light. Freeing.

[*]

"Feel it!" Maggie demanded and seized Glenn's hand and put it on her stomach. Glenn's face formed a sloppy grin. The couple was now sitting on the living room couch. Michonne was sharing the large arm chair with Rick. They were squeezed in tightly, hip to hip, and sipping wine.

Carl had finally gotten Enid on the dance floor, though now they were disappearing, hand in hand, out the kitchen door. Rick watched them slip away and felt a pang of fatherly worry. He saw that relationship ending in one of two ways – either heartbreak, or a marriage of apocalyptic convenience.

Of course, his marriage to Lori had been one of convenience for at least a few of its long years. There'd been good times and bad times. You loved the one you were with. He snaked an arm around Michonne and rested his hand on her hip. Sometimes you loved her because she was there and she was yours. But sometimes you loved her because the thought of a world without her left you utterly reeling.

Rick kissed Michonne's shoulder and sighed in her scent.

[*]

Carol stood behind Daryl as he looked at himself in the hall bathroom mirror. She hoped he didn't hate it. She hadn't cut it quite like it was when she first met him. He looked wiser, she thought, than he had when he and Merle had first rolled into their camp, terrifying them all with the fear that they were there to rape and pillage. Shane and the others had surrounded them with drawn guns, and Daryl had said, "Good Lord. We only wanted to see if y'all wanted some possum in exchange for some smokes."

Daryl ran a hand over the top of his hair.

"You hate it," she said.

"Nah. Feels good actually. Looks weird, but I ain't vain."

"It does _not_ look weird. You look good." She wondered if he had any idea just how good-looking he was.

He silently held her eyes in the mirror. The intensity of his gaze stirred an uneasy sense of longing in her. Hastily, she said, "Let's go show the others."

He turned. "What?"

"Your haircut. Let's go show the others. Come on, I want to go back to the party."

He shook his head.

"You're _already_ wearing your nice black shirt. You should get more than twenty-five minutes use out of it."

Daryl sighed.

"Please?" asked Carol, holding out her hand to him with a teasing smile. She buried that uneasy longing beneath her jesting tone: "Come on. Be my date."

 **[*]**

When Daryl walked into the monks' house on the heels of Carol, Abraham announced, "It's just Dixon!"

"No way!" Maggie cried.

Rick looked at Daryl and shook his head. "You clean up real nice, man."

Glenn laughed and kept saying, "Oh my God."

"We were all looking out the living room window," Michonne explained, "wondering who that man was walking next to Carol up the street."

"Yeah," Abraham said, "and Sasha kept saying – who _is_ that hot guy? I've never seen him before."

"Hey, what can I say?" Sasha defended herself. "He looked really good from a distance."

Daryl looked around the room. It was only their people and Brother Lawrence and Brother Stephen, who was scurrying around cleaning up the cups people had left behind. "Where is everyone?"

"Everyone else went home," Rick told them. "And the monks went to bed already."

Abraham raised a foamy cup of monastery brew. "But they said we're welcome to stay and finish their beer."

Daryl took a seat on the couch next to Glenn and Maggie. Carol sat down on the hassock next to Brother Lawrence's armchair.

Brother Stephen finished tidying and announced he was headed back to the house. When he'd left through the front door, Brother Lawrence said, "I want to dedicate this next song to Daryl Dixon." He started playing and singing that damn song Rick used to annoy Daryl with in the car when they went on runs.

Daryl pointed a sharp finger at Rick. "Did you put him up to this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rick answered innocently.

Daryl strode over and tried to wrestle the guitar out of the monk's hands.

"Let it go, Daryl!" Carol insisted. "I want to hear him sing."

"Fine," Daryl muttered. He sat down on the edge of the hassock next to her, half off it. "Then scoot." She did, and they were soon sitting shoulder to shoulder. "But at least play somethin' else!"

The monk began strumming again. "You like country blues?"

Daryl grunted.

"I do," Carol said.

The monk proceeded to sing a song Daryl had never heard it before. Brother Lawrence's deep voice was tinged with notes of both hope and sadness:

 _Mountain's rough this time of year,  
close the highway down,  
they don't warn the town.  
I've been fighting second gear,  
for fifteen miles or so,  
trying to beat the angry snow.  
And I know every town worth passing through,  
But what good does knowing do, with no one to show it to?  
_  
 _And I've grown tired of traveling alone,  
Tired of traveling alone,  
I've grown tired of traveling alone,  
Won't you ride with me?_

Carol reached over and took Daryl's hand in her own. Surprised, he glanced at her, but he was content to let her hold it. It wasn't something she did often, unless they were about to topple over a bypass in a van.

 _I quit talking to myself_  
 _And listening to the radio_  
 _a long, long time ago…_

 _And I've grown tired of traveling alone,  
_ _Tired of traveling alone,  
_ _I've grown tired of traveling alone,  
_ _Won't you ride with me?_

[*]

It was midnight when Carol, Daryl, and Brother Lawrence headed back to the house through the lingering snow. The sky was a clear, open expanse, stars blazing. "I bet you used to be able to see the lights of D.C. from here," Brother Lawrence said, gazing in the direction of the city.

Carol suddenly stopped walking. "You know what I haven't done since the blizzard of 1983?"

"You mean when it snowed an amazing seven inches in Georgia?" Brother Lawrence asked.

She nodded.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Made a snow angel."

The monk smiled. "What's stopping you?"

Carol ran forward a few feet and threw herself down in the middle of the street.

Daryl watched her make the snow angel, lying there on her back. Bold flakes of white were just now beginning to fall again from the sky. He could feel them dissolving in his newly cut hair, and he found himself just staring at Carol as she laughed and pumped her arms and legs, making a symbolic imitation of a heaven that probably didn't exist. "How much did she have to drink?" Daryl asked the monk.

"Maybe she's just drunk on life. Why not? There are still things worth living for."

"She looks ridiculous," Daryl said. And it was ridiculous, the childlike laughter rising from a fighter's body, that angel being born on a street that had once been bathed in blood. It was ridiculous…but it was also beautiful.

Carol was beautiful.

"You look ridiculous!" Daryl yelled, and then smiled, and then laughed. He laughed like he hadn't laughed in... he didn't know how long. Maybe since he was a very little boy, since before the first time his daddy hit him.

Carol stopped pumping. Daryl stopped laughing. He could see the angel outlining her quiet form. He stood in silence now, watching her watch the flakes fall from the sky.

"You should help her up," the monk said from beside him, and then he began to walk, leaving light footprints in the snow.

 _[End Note: Song lyrics from Jason's Isbell's "Travelin' Alone"]_


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** _Thank you so much to those who have taken the time to leave feedback. Occasionally there will be a question from a guest reviewer, but I can't reply because guest reviewers are not signed in. I'm happy to reply to any specific questions; just shoot me a message through the system. I hope you continue to enjoy._

[*]

Later, back at the house, Carol yawned in the foyer and announced she was going to bed. She looked at Daryl. "'Nite," Daryl mumbled.

Brother Lawrence nodded in the direction in which Carol was retreating. "You aren't headed to sleep, too?"

"Nah," Daryl said. "Not tired."

The monk shook his head and chuckled, which puzzled Daryl. "Well, since you aren't..." Brother Lawrence opened his coat to reveal two cigars in an inside pocket. "Maybe we could smoke these on the porch? I snagged them at the winery."

Daryl nodded and followed the man outside onto the back porch. Winter moths danced around the porch light as they settled in the rocking chairs. Daryl was struck by the rigid coldness of the wood, but he pretended not to be. He wasn't going to give the monk a reason to make a joke about delicate Georgians. "Why ain't ya wearin' the cassock no more?" he asked as Brother Lawrence unwrapped and cut the cigars.

The monk was wearing brown khakis, a sweater, and a winter coat. "I've begun to think, what's the point? We're not in the monastery any longer." He handed Daryl a cigar.

Daryl had never actually smoked a cigar before, so he watched what the monk did to get it going and imitated him. Cigarettes were easier, he thought. They sat in silence and smoked. It was strangely quiet, too dead in winter. Daryl missed the field crickets that used to sing him to sleep. When the ash got long, he rolled it off against the porch.

"You should tap that over the railing," Brother Lawrence said. "Carol's not going to like ash all over the porch."

"Carol's seen worse."

"Do you by chance know what happened to my second bottle of bourbon?"

"No idea," Daryl lied.

The monk took a puff and then blew a smoke ring. "I saw Nadia head out after you when you first left the party. Did you walk her to the infirmary?"

"Mhmmm."

"I don't know what she finds to do there so late. I know she's home now, though. I saw her coat in the foyer."

Daryl stuck his thumb in his mouth and flicked a piece of tobacco off his tongue.

"What did you two talk about?"

"Not much." Daryl didn't look at the monk. He took another drag on the cigar and blew it out slowly.

"I think she's getting better," Brother Lawrence said hopefully.

The monk's pointless optimism pinched Daryl's heart. He hadn't planned to say anything, but he did. "Think she blames ya for bein' captured."

"I know."

"Ya _know?_ "

"I know," the monk repeated.

"Ain't that bother you none?"

"Of course it _bothers_ me. But she had horrible things happen to her. And if it gives her any peace at all to make me a scapegoat...well, then I'm content to be that scapegoat."

Daryl shook his head. "Ain't no woman worth being a whippin' boy for."

"You don't know her," Brother Lawrence said. "You don't know what she was like before."

"She ain't like that anymore."

"No, she's not who she was. But neither am I. This world changes us. None of us is who we were. Are you?"

"No," Daryl muttered. "But I tell you what. I ain't never bit the hand that feeds me."

"She's angry. She won't be angry forever."

Daryl finished the cigar in silence and tossed the butt over the porch railing. "Thanks for the smoke," he said and went inside.

He paused outside of Carol's door upstairs, out of some protective habit, and listened. Light seeped out from under the door. She was safe. She was reading. Daryl walked on to his room.

[*]

Carl came home even later than Rick and Michonne. Rick waited up for him, while Michonne retreated to bed. When Carl came in, the teenager headed straight for the kitchen, muttering only a "Hey" to his father who was sitting in the chair before the fire, drumming his fingertips on the arm.

Rick rose and followed and found the boy eating one of Carol's cookies and drinking a glass of water.

"You and Enid were out late," he said.

"Uh…Yeah." Carl wolfed the last of his cookie down. "Nite." He walked around the counter and began to move toward the living room, but Rick blocked his way.

"I know you don't want to, but we need to have the sex discussion."

Carl stepped to the left to clear his father's bulk. "Enid and I aren't having sex. Not even _close_."

Rick stepped to the left to block him again. "Good, because you're both _way_ too young. I know you feel like a man in this world, but you're only fourteen."

"I'm aware." Carl stepped right.

Rick stepped right. "In real life, women aren't like they are in magazines."

"Dad, I know. I'm not an idiot!"

Rick put a hand on both his hips. "How long do condoms last?"

"What is this?" Carl took a step back, since he couldn't get around. "A pop quiz?"

"Yes. How long do they last?"

Carl shrugged. "I don't know!"

"About five years after the date of manufacture. Unless they have spermicide, then more like two years, because it weakens the latex."

"Dad, can I just…" Carl gestured helplessly beyond his father. "Can I go now?"

"No. Now it's been about two years since the Outbreak. So I just want to remind you to be observant of expiration dates when that time comes. And given the condom shortage, by the time you and Enid are ready, you may have to consider alternate means. For instance – "

"- Dad!" Carl interrupted. "Look, if I need to know anything, I'll ask Michonne. Okay, I promise. Or Daryl."

"Daryl?" Rick exclaimed. "God no! Whatever you do, don't ask _Daryl_."

"Then Brother Lawrence."

"I don't think he has much sexual experience. Look, why can't you just ask your old man? You used to talk to me about anything when you were a little boy. I'm just trying to give you some useful information here."

"I'm not a boy anymore, Dad. Sorry." Carl slipped around him and bolted toward the stairs. Rick called after him. Carl sighed, his shoulders drooped, and he turned.

"Okay, I get it," Rick told him. "I'm not going to be your go-to guy on this. It's too embarrassing. But it's still my duty to say a few things as your father." He walked across the living room and met Carl a few feet from the stairs. "So I'm going to say one more thing." He held up a finger. "Always respect women and their boundaries. Never pressure."

"Yeah. Sure. I know." Carl turned and sprung up the stairs.

[*]

The sun came out in full force the next morning, and the snow began to melt. Carol opened her bedroom door to find a pile of neatly folded clothes resting on the carpet. Brother Stephen had apparently done the laundry. She smiled and picked up the clothes and brought them inside. She spent the morning helping to organize the pantry, checking on the progress of the herbs and vegetables in the temperature-controlled greenhouse, and planting some more pots with some of the seeds they'd gotten from Cabela's.

By mid-afternoon there was only an inch of snow on the ground. Carol was looking in the cupboards and considering what to make for dinner when Daryl, leaving a trail of muddied snow, strutted into the kitchen. His new crossbow was slung over his shoulder, and he held a plucked, wild turkey upside down by its feet. He dropped the carcass straight on the kitchen counter. "See what you can do with that, Martha Stewart."

Brother Lawrence complimented her cooking three times that night. After the third compliment, Carol said, "We should thank the hunter as well as the chef." Daryl looked up from his plate at her. He began to chew more slowly.

"Yes, Carol's right. Thank you, Daryl," Nadia told him. "This will feed us all for two days."

Brother Lawrence gave Nadia a strange look and then excused himself, saying, "I need to get back to work on my History of Alexandria."

Nadia soon followed. "Thank you for the fine meal, Carol. I need to go to the infirmary and inventory the medicines."

Daryl just left the table without saying anything at all. Carol wondered if he was ever going to learn manners. She couldn't blame him for not being raised with them, but he'd lived in this house long enough that he should at least start picking up a few by imitation.

Brother Stephen, as usual, cleared the table and did the dishes. Carol helped the young monk for a while, until he said, "Carol, you cooked. Let me clean." She thought Brother Stephen was a tad compulsive, which had probably made the painstaking order of monastery living a good match for him. He'd taken a personal vow of silence in the monastery, one of only two monks to do so, but he had found verbal communication necessary in the war against the Saviors, and he'd never returned to his silence.

Carol left the kitchen and found Daryl sitting on the living room couch. He'd started the fire and was sipping some bourbon.

She sat down next to him. "You have any more of that for me, or did you and Rick drink it all?"

He handed her his unfinished glass. "'S more. Bottle's hidden in my room."

"I just want a little," she said and sipped. "Would you tell me what's going on between Brother Lawrence and Nadia? I feel like you know something I don't."

"Ain't a gossip."

"I have to _live_ with these people, Daryl. I'm not just being nosy."

"Fine. Ain't much to tell. Monk loves the doctor."

"And?" Carol asked.

"They's up to somethin' 'fore Negan took her."

"But he said he's never - "

"- Well it wasn't _that_. And it ain't my business _what_. But they's up to something. And now she don't want to be up to it no more."

"Does she know he loves her?"

"Mhmm."

Carol looked at him over her glass as she took another small sip of the bourbon. "That must have been quite a risk for him, to tell her how he felt."

"Guess so."

"Takes a lot of courage."

Daryl didn't reply.

"I've killed a lot of walkers," she said, "and a lot of people. I survived on my own for weeks. I rescued all of you from Terminus." She finished off the bourbon and handed him the empty glass. "But I'm not sure I have _that_ kind of courage." Carol stood and left him alone there on the couch, clutching the empty glass.

[*]

Carl cleared the plates from the table while Michonne got Judith down from her high chair. The girl promptly scurried on hands and knees across the floor and then pulled herself up using the trash can to watch her big brother wash the dishes. "Ca-Ca!" She drummed on the metal lid and squealed.

Carl smiled back at her. "That's right!" he said. "Carl!"

"Ca-Ca!"

Michonne smiled at Rick as he wiped down the table. "Does that go in the book as her fourth word?" she asked.

"She didn't actually _say_ Carl," Rick insisted.

Michonne chuckled. "Someone's grumpy about not being first."

Judith's first word had been _uh-oh_. Her second had be _no_. Her third had been _Dee-Dee_ – spoken to Daryl, and it had remained her name for the first person ever to feed her. Now they could add _Ca-Ca_ to the list. "I suppose you'll be next," Rick told Michonne.

"She'll be Mi-Mi." Carl said as he turned off the water. He leaned forward toward Judith and said, " _Mi-Mi_ ," in that voice even a cool teenage boy can't help but use when talking to a cute toddler.

Rick walked over to Judith and stroked her hair, which was getting long and curly in the back. "Da-da," he said to his daughter. " _Da-da_."

"Ca-Ca!" She squealed and slammed her hand down on the trash can again. She looked up at Michonne and smiled. "Mi-Mi!"

[*]

Daryl put the empty bourbon glass down on the coffee table and tried to figure out what the hell Carol's words were all about. She didn't have the courage to…What was she _saying_? That she wished she'd told Tobin she loved him before he died? But she hadn't even _cried_ at the burial.

"Is that a residue of bourbon I detect on that glass?"

Daryl looked slowly over his shoulder. "Thought ya had a history to write."

Brother Lawrence sat down and drew the empty glass to himself. He ran a finger around the inside rim and then brought his fingertip to his mouth and licked it. "Where have you hidden my Woodford?"

"That's some fantastic detective work."

"All you had to do was ask, and I would have _given_ you the bottle."

"Well ya shouldn't." Daryl stood up. "Shouldn't let people walk all over ya."

"Are you talking about Nadia?"

Daryl swiped his glass from the monk's hand and disappeared up the stairs.

[*]

Carol didn't see much of Daryl the next few days. When he wasn't hunting, he was teaching at the archery range they'd installed on the edge of Alexandria or standing watch along the wall. He came home, ate the food Carol set in front of him, and then went back to work. Brother Lawrence was equally busy, attending mass with the brothers in the morning and vespers in the evening, writing his history of Alexandria, teaching the kids literature in the two-car-garage school house, and helping Brother William to brew more beer.

Carol, too, played her part. Even though she kept busy, after only six days, she was feeling restless. At dinner that night, she suggested that they head back to Cabela's sooner than planned. "The weather's good," she said. "No snow, no ice. Who knows when that will change. We should take advantage. Leave tomorrow."

Daryl set down his water glass. "Told Ethan I'd take him grouse huntin' tomorrow."

Carol knew he'd been teaching the boy about crossbows and how to identify small animal tracks within Alexandria, but grouse hunting would probably require a trip to the woods. "Is his mother letting you take him outside the gates?"

"Ain't asked his mother."

"Well," Nadia said, "you probably _should_. Were I a mother, I'd wish to be informed."

"But you're not a mother, are you?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Nadia stopped chewing. She gave him a strange look and swallowed hard.

"I'm so sorry," the monk said hastily. "I wasn't thinking about what I was saying. I didn't mean - "

"- I'm going to make a house call on Maggie," Nadia interrupted him. "She's been having mild contractions. Braxton Hicks, I think…but I should check in on her again." She stood and left.

Brother Stephen looked at Brother Lawrence across the table. "You've been acting strangely toward Nadia ever since you got back from Cabela's."

"Go prepare the church for tomorrow morning's mass," Brother Lawrence told him.

"I haven't done the dishes."

"I'll do them. Go."

The younger monk obediently stood and cleared his plate to the sink. This time his grimace really was a grimace, Carol thought, instead of a deformed smile. On his way out, Brother Stephen paused at the table. "Perhaps we should consider moving in with the other monks."

"There isn't enough room in that house."

"A cell was once room enough for you," Brother Stephen reminded him.

"And silence was once noise enough for you," Brother Lawrence replied.

"Well, we've all renounced some _portion_ of our vows, haven't we? Some of us more unnecessarily than others, perhaps?"

"The preparations, brother."

Brother Stephen left the three alone at the table.

"I'm ready to go tomorrow," Brother Lawrence announced.

"Well I ain't," Daryl said. "Promised Ethan."

"You and I could go alone together," Carol told Brother Lawrence.

Daryl looked from Carol to the monk. "Nah-uh," he said. "Nah. Three's safer."

"We could ask Abraham," Carol suggested.

"I'll go!" Daryl said, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Just - mid-mornin'. So's I can take Ethan huntin' first."

Carol looked at the monk.

"Mid-morning it is," he agreed. "Then we three musketeers shall embark upon our latest adventure."

Daryl shot him a wary look.


	16. Chapter 16

Daryl knocked hard on the door of Ethan's house and then stepped back. The eleven year old, Kendra, answered. Kendra, Ethan, and Jonathan all lived in this house with their mothers. Those three women had all been a part of a small group, along with their husbands, surviving together in the Virginia forest as best they could for the first two months after the Outbreak. When the group was overwhelmed by a pack of walkers, the men had sacrificed themselves so that the women and children would have time to escape. Terrified and famished, the women and their children had stumbled on the outskirts of the monastery six days later, and the monks had offered them refuge.

"Lookin' for Ethan," Daryl said.

Kendra disappeared, shouting, "Ms. Campbell, Mr. Dixon wants Ethan!"

Ethan's mother came to the door. Daryl wished he could remember her first name. "Ethan tell you we're huntin' this mornin'?" he asked.

"He did," she replied, "but it would have been nice if you had discussed it with me first."

The woman's voice was curt and Daryl thought Glenn was a damn fool to think she'd been coming onto him at the party. "Sorry."

"I'm not sure how I feel about you taking him beyond the gates," she said.

"Boy's got to learn some time."

"He's eight."

"I was five the first time I went huntin'." Daryl shifted his crossbow on his back.

"There were no living dead when you were five."

"He's smart, your boy. Learns quick. And I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to him."

"Daryl!" Ethan exclaimed, appearing in the doorway next to his mother. He had the youth crossbow Daryl had brought him from Cabela's.

"You call him Mr. Dixon," his mother said.

"So I can go?" Ethan asked eagerly.

"Fine." His mother put a hand on top of his head. "But if you're gone more than two hours, I'm sending the cavalry after you." She kissed the top of Ethan's head. "Why don't you come in and have some coffee first, Daryl?"

"Ain't got time," he said. "Leavin' for a run later."

"You're supposed to say no _thank you_ ," Ethan told him as he stepped out onto the porch.

Ethan's mother nodded over Daryl's shoulder. "Hello, Brother Lawrence. Have you got the first chapter of your book for me to edit?"

Daryl turned to see the monk holding a stack of papers.

"That I do, Karen."

 _Karen_ , Daryl thought. He'd have to remember her name.

"Well, come in, brother, have some coffee. We'll go over it together."

The monk nodded to Daryl and went inside the house. The door fell shut. Daryl put a hand on Ethan's shoulder and walked him down the porch steps. "Let's get us some grouse."

"Hell yeah!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Don't let your mama hear you sayin' that. She'll think you learned it from me."

"I _did_ learn it from you."

Rick was on watch when they reached the front gates. He came down to help roll open the gate and to hand Daryl a list for his supply run later that morning.

"'Chonne want more chocolates?" Daryl asked.

"We need more condoms," Rick replied.

[*]

Daryl and Ethan didn't manage to get a grouse, but they tracked a fox for a good half mile before finding a walker that was kneeling on the ground and picking over the animal's carcass. Daryl nodded and whispered, "You get 'em."

Ethan glanced nervously at Daryl and then at the walker, but he readied his crossbow. The walker heard the click, turned, and thrashed the dead flesh of its jowls. Ethan gasped and shot blindly. The arrow went into the walker's upper leg, and the creature rose, lurching and groaning. Daryl shot it swiftly in the head, and then said, "Can't let fear get the better of ya."

"Sorry," Ethan muttered.

"It's him or you."

"Yes, sir," Ethan said.

"Ain't got to call me sir. Now go pull out the arrow."

"Yes, sir."

[*]

Carol and Daryl were zipping up their backpacks in the living room later that morning when Nadia walked in and extended to Brother Lawrence a written list. "I thought…if you returned to that bookstore."

The usually calm monk seemed irritated. "That's not on the agenda. This is a supply run, Nadia, not a personal shopping trip. Do you think I only exist to jump at your command on those rare occasions when you still happen to want me for something?"

Carol glanced at Daryl, who shared her wary look as he slung his pack over his shoulders.

Nadia pushed the list gently against the monk's chest. "Medical books. Psychology books. Biology. Chemistry. Anatomy. Alternative Medicine. You said there was a large non-fiction section. I was a surgeon, but I don't know or remember every topic. I need to learn more. And I need to train people. I want to formally apprentice Kendra."

Brother Lawrence took the list and glanced at it. His voice was softer now. "I'll see what I can do." He slung his backpack on his shoulder, shoved the list in his coat pocket, and strode to the door.

When his hand was on the doorknob, Nadia said, "Lawrence, be careful."

[*]

"What are you doing over there?" Michonne called over the fence at Rick.

Rick slid out of the pick-up truck, shut the door, and put a finger to his lips. When he came back inside the gates, he scurried up the ladder next to her. "Just pranking Daryl."

"Boys," Michonne muttered.

Rick loved the way her voice could contain a laugh when she spoke. "I gave him the list. Hopefully he'll find more condoms."

"Good, because we've blown through our rations for the month already," Michonne replied. "We'll have to start using the rhythm method at some point, which is bit like feast or famine."

Rick hooked a finger through her belt loop and pulled her against himself. "The feast part I can deal with."

She chuckled. "Well, we can also do other things in between."

Rick was smiling when he leaned in for a kiss.

[*]

Carol slid into the backseat of the pick-up while the monk took shotgun. Daryl cranked the engine, and the stereo immediately began blasting that peppy song Rick always played to annoy him on supply runs. At _full_ volume.

Daryl violently clicked the stereo off and lurched the truck into forward.

"I'd like some music," Carol said from the backseat.

"Need to conserve the battery."

"I just think this trip would be more pleasant with some music," Carol told him.

"If you don't like that particular CD," Brother Lawrence said, "we have more options." He opened the glove compartment and a stack of CDs fell out. "I've got Lynryd Skynard. Right here."

The monk shook the CD case in Daryl's face, and he pushed it away with one hand. "Hate Skynard. Merle used to play Free Bird over and over and over."

"Well I've also got The Allman Brother's Band, Fleetwood Mac, U2, Mozart, The Beatles, Bob - "

"- Fine," Daryl interrupted. "Put in Mozart."

The monk laughed. Then he peered at Daryl. "Wait. Are you…are you quite serious?'

"If I gotta listen to somethin'."

Brother Lawrence shook his head, opened the case, and slid in the CD. "Never pegged you for a classical music sort of fellow."

"Know what I like 'bout it?" Daryl asked, looking pointedly at the monk. "No goddamn words. People should learn to shut up more."

[*]

The CVS appeared to have been further looted when they got back to the strip mall with the used book store, and there were several more dead walkers on the pavement than they'd left behind. These hints of the presence of people put Carol on edge. She hadn't had to kill anyone in over a week.

Maybe she _should_ have stayed home in Alexandria, tending to seeds and organizing the pantry, if she wanted to avoid killing people. No one was attacking home base these days. And yet she'd been the one to suggest leaving early. She wondered, sometimes, if she had a taste for it, the blood, if it had worked its way inside her somehow, if it called to her. She told herself she only ever killed for those she loved, but maybe she was like an angry man walking into a bar and just praying some jerk would start fight. "I hope we don't have to kill anyone," she told Daryl.

He picked up a cigarette butt from the sidewalk and sniffed. "I think they're at least a few hours gone."

After they made sure the bookstore was cleared, Daryl and Carol assumed a post on either side of the door to keep guard while the monk went in to look for the items on Nadia's list, just in case people did show up.

"Any special requests before I go in?" the monk asked.

"Can you get me a vegetable cook book?" Carol asked. "If all of those seeds we got at Cabela's work, I'm going to need some new ideas."

"Sure. How about you, Daryl? Can I pick you up anything while I'm in there? A Harlequin, possibly? Maybe from their _Heartwarming_ line? Or perhaps you prefer _Desire_ or… dare I say … _Blaze_?"

"Why ya know all the names?" Daryl asked.

"My sister used to order them by the box load," he replied before stepping inside.

Daryl leaned his head through the open door frame. "Hey, if ya see any good repair guides in there, get 'em. Cars, electrical shit, home repairs, whatever." He pulled back out and loaded his crossbow. "Guess we need to start pickin' up stuff like that. Start apprenticin' more people. Teach more practical shit than just how to kill."

"Build for the future?" Carol asked, surprised that Daryl's mind would be turning in that direction.

"Mhmhm."

"You think things are settled enough for that?"

Daryl glanced at her. "Settled as they're ever gonna be, maybe."

"Not _too_ settled for you?"

Daryl, she thought, was like a wild bird that could not be caged. She, however, could easily fall into the domestic routine. It felt fake somehow, but she _could_ do it. She could build a life anywhere. Carol had learned to adapt to survive, ever since the first time she saw her father slap her mother. She always read the rules of the game and played by them. Carol had figured out how to read people, deduce what they wanted, and give it to them before they could hurt her. She'd always played a part, maybe. She'd never just been _herself_ , except, possibly, sometimes with Daryl.

He muttered _I don't know_ as he always did, like it was all one, long word. "Gotta live somewhere, I guess. Gotta do somethin'." He chewed on his thumbnail and studied her. "Right?" he asked.

"I suppose so."

He let his hand fall from his mouth back to his bow. "You been thinkin' 'bout leavin' again?"

Carol shook her head.

"Good." He looked out across the parking lot.

When the monk came out ten minutes later, he slapped a book against Daryl's chest and let go. It began to slide down, and Daryl grabbed it with one hand and turned it over. Carol peered at the cover. It depicted a man with unruly, brownish-blonde hair who was wearing a sleeveless, black vest open over his naked, muscular chest. He was leaned against a wooden fence, and, propped up next to him was a hunting rifle. He held an envelope in his hand, which had been sealed with a heart. The title was _Romanced by the Redneck_.

Carol burst out laughing.

"I hear it has a strong heroine," Brother Lawrence called over his shoulder as he strolled toward the pick-up.

Daryl heaved the book across the parking lot.

 **[*]**

Rick finished reviewing the inventory, closed the book, and returned it to the office desk. The woman in charge of inventorying the pantry had told him she thought they could expand the rations after the last supply run. After reviewing the book, he agreed, and he decided he'd bring the re-allotment up for a vote at the next Council meeting, after they knew what loot the current supply run team brought back. The nine-member Alexandrian Council met regularly, once a week, and then held special meetings as needed.

These mundane details were not nearly as exciting as plotting and executing a war, but Rick felt a quiet satisfaction in them, the way he had when he'd begun farming back at the prison. Back then, he'd had dreams of the future, too, but they'd all been blown to bits by the Governor. They were wiser now, stronger, and better armed. They'd learned through months of gritty survival and through weeks of war. They weren't going to let something like that happen again, Rick was determined. And yet, as he walked on to the firing range to conduct class, he felt an uneasiness surround him like a cloud. No matter how much they dug in, he always felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

[*]

"You two are awfully quiet," Brother Lawrence observed after they'd been driving for twenty minutes. He was in the backseat now.

"Not everyone needs to talk as much as you," Daryl said.

"Do you mind if I sing Ave Maria?"

Daryl sighed heavily.

"Just kidding. I hate that song. But don't tell Brother Stephen. He already judges me."

Carol craned her neck back to look at him. "Are you taking requests?"

"For you, Carol? Always. What's your pleasure?"

"I don't know, maybe something old school. One of the old crooners, maybe."

The monk began snapping his fingers while Daryl looked excessively pained. Brother Lawrence began to sing "The Latz Waltz":

 _I had the last waltz with you,  
Two lonely people together.  
I fell in love with you,  
The last waltz should last forever._

 _The love we had was going strong,  
Through the good and bad we got along.  
And then the flame of love died in your eye,  
My heart was broke in two when you said goodbye._

 _It's all -_

"- That's damn depressin'!" Daryl interrupted. He knew the monk was probably upset Nadia had told him they couldn't be doing whatever it was they'd _been_ doing, but Daryl didn't need to hear about it. "'Nuff heartbreak in this world without singin' 'bout it."

"Well, then, tell him what you want him to sing," Carol said.

"Don't want him to sing nothin'."

The monk began snapping his fingers again. "Zipa-dee-do-da, Zipa-dee-a, My oh my what a wonder – "

"- Shush it!" Daryl growled.

"- ful day! Plenty – "

Carol joined in "-of sunshine, headed my way, Zipa-dee-do-da, Zipa-dee-a!"

Daryl groaned and pushed the accelerator down a little harder.


	17. Chapter 17

The supply run trio didn't stop to make camp. Without snow and without any further stops or distractions, they made good time. They took turns napping and driving and arrived at the Cabela's after sunset. After parking two miles away and hiding the pick-up in the forest, they hiked under cover of darkness, but when they emerged from the woods near the back end of the parking lot, they saw two men loading a trailer and quickly scurried back behind the trees.

Looking through night vision binoculars they'd picked up on their last trip to Cabela's, Carol said, "I think there's four of them total. They shattered the front door. There's broken glass everywhere."

The trio worked their way quietly inward through the parking lot, hiding behind trailers and sailboats and ATVs until at last they were all three crouching behind the same abandoned car, close enough to hear what the men were saying.

"I can't find that damn girl who ran and hid!" yelled a tall, bald-headed man.

 _The pale pink long johns._ Daryl cursed himself for not considering that the boy might be hiding a sister. He'd assumed the kid just didn't care, but what near-teenage boy wore pink, even if he _was_ alone?

"How could you have lost her?" asked a large, muscular man who was wearing a Hell's Angels jacket.

"I don't know! She ran off in the direction of the bathrooms, and then she just disappeared. I looked everywhere."

"Did you look in all the stalls?"

"Of course I did!"

"Well, who cares? She ain't coming after us alone to steal her shit back. The boy's dead."

Brother Lawrence closed his eyes and bowed his head when he heard this.

"I know, but I want her."

"What for?" the man in the Hell's Angels jacket asked.

"What do you _think_?"

"She ain't but 11 maybe!"

"So. She's still got all the necessary holes, don't she?"

Carol stiffened beside Daryl. He felt a rage fill his entire body, and it was all he could do to force himself to stay put, to not spring up and start shooting.

"Well, we'll get her tomorrow. You can have your fun then. Let's go. We got to get all this shit back to camp."

"I don't want the girl tomorrow. I want her _tonight_."

"Well you're gonna have to wait. We'll find her tomorrow, when it's daylight and we can come back with the others. We'll search better and load up more trailers then. C'mon."

There was a heavy sigh and then the sound of doors closing as four men climbed inside. Their pick-up roared to life, and they drove off, tugging a trailer.

[*]

Judith pushed the red ring down over the yellow stick. Then she pushed the blue ring down, but it was bigger than the red ring beneath it. "Uh-oh," she said. Then she gnawed on the green ring.

"Think she's teething?" Rick asked Michonne as he slid an arm around her shoulders and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Michonne leaned against his side. "Probably. I'll put some of her chew toys in the freezer. Maybe rub a little vodka on her gums."

"What?" Rick asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You mean your parents didn't do that?"

"Not that I know of." God knows Lori wouldn't have agreed to it if he'd suggested it. When he looks back on it now, Rick realizes how much his late wife bubble-wrapped Carl, and how little he fought back against her. But the bubble-wrap has long since been shredded.

At the moment, Carl is lifting weights in the garage, a strange thought to Rick, when day-to-day survival offers so much opportunity for exercise. But Carl has decided he's "way too scrawny" and needs to bulk up. He probably wants to impress Enid, but it's not as if there are any muscular boys Enid's age around here. At worst, Carl is competing with pictures in magazines. It can't hurt for the boy to build a little muscle, but Rick never could get those bulging biceps when he was a teenager, no matter how hard he tried. He tells Michonne this now.

She squeezes his arm. "You're doing okay. And I've never like bulky guys."

[*]

The trio, wearing the night vision equipment they'd collected on their last run to Cabela's, entered the store cautiously. Broken glass and spent shell casings crunched beneath their feet. Daryl stepped over the dead body of a man. "The boy got one of 'em. Right in the head."

They found Andrew in one of the displays, sprawled face down on a fake rock between a stuffed elk and a plastic tree. He'd been shot six times in the body. He must have heard them breaking in, told his sister to run and hide, and then lain there to snipe them. He'd been overtaken by a blind barrage of gunfire in his direction. The display itself was riddled with bullet holes.

Carol inhaled sharply and looked away. Brother Lawrence said, "We should have made him come with us." Daryl rolled the boy onto his back and shot an arrow into his head so he wouldn't turn. Pulling the arrow out required him to look the kid in the face and push down on his shoulder. Daryl gritted his teeth and swallowed the aftertaste of guilt as the blood-caked arrow slid out. If only he'd been suspicious of those pink long johns. If he hadn't been so indifferent about the boy returning with them. If they'd found the girl then, and brought them both back. If, if, if... "Stupid kid," he muttered. "Fuckin' stupid kid!"

"It's not your fault," Carol said softly, and Daryl jumped a little. How had she known what he was thinking? "We need to find the girl."

Daryl nodded. He looked around cautiously. "Don't understand why she wasn't shootin' with him. Their daddy must of trained her, too."

"Let's check around the bathrooms first," Brother Lawrence suggested. "That's where they said she ran."

They worked their way towards the bathrooms. Brother Lawrence called out, "Little girl, we aren't with those bad men. We just want to help you. Take you back someplace safe. Come on out, now."

"Don't bother," Daryl muttered. "She's not gonna believe that shit. Have to convince her when we find her."

Daryl went inside the Women's, and the other two followed. Brother Lawrence pushed open the doors to the stalls one by one, leaping back and allowing Daryl to fix his crossbow on whatever might be inside. But when Brother Lawrence reached the last stall, placed his hand on the door, and began to push, a gunshot rang out. The bullet went through the door and into his palm, and the monk fell back, clasping his hand and screaming.

There was another wild shot that hit the tile wall, and then Daryl heard the telltale sound of a handgun jamming. He didn't think. He simply acted, in the heat of the moment, with the monk still screaming behind him. He jumped in front of the stall door, kicked it back open, and leveled his crossbow. He was about to instinctively fire when Carol pushed his crossbow up. Standing on the toilet, and trying to shoot a jammed handgun with her left hand, was a little, blue-eyed, strawberry blonde girl. Her right arm ended in a stub that had been messily cauterized.

Great, Daryl thought. He'd left the brother to die, and then he'd almost killed the sister too. His daddy had been right. What a worthless piece of shit he was.

Carol grabbed the gun from the girl and gathered the now weeping child into her arms. "Shhh!" she reassured her as she sat down against the bathroom wall and rocked her. "We aren't here to hurt you. We aren't with those men. We're here to rescue you."

Daryl looked up at the ceiling above the stall and saw a cord hanging down from a slightly loosened tile. He hadn't noticed that the first time he was here. Just one more way he'd fucked up. _You think you're a good tracker?_ his daddy had asked him one morning after he came home from a night alone in the woods to show him the possum he'd caught. _You're a goddamn idiot. You don't see half the things you should see._

Daryl had looked _inside_ all the stalls, but he hadn't looked _up_.

He slung his crossbow on his back, hopped up on the toilet, and pulled the cord. The tile slid all the way back and a rope ladder dropped down. It creaked beneath his weight when he climbed the first two rungs, but he got high enough to swivel around and see, through his night vision goggles, that there was a wooden platform built between two beams of the ceiling. On top of it lay a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and some water and storage food. The girl must have thought the coast was clear and come back down and pulled the cord to retract the ladder. But then she probably heard Brother Lawrence calling. With no time to climb back up, she'd simply balanced on the toilet and readied her handgun.

It was an impressive hiding place. "Well I'll be damned," he muttered, and the ladder snapped. Daryl banged his knee against the toilet as he fell, cursed, and shouted, "Ow!"

"I'm in a bit of pain here myself," the monk said. "A little help, if you would?"

[*]

Rick clicked the light off in the nursery and Judith, who had her eyes closed a second ago, began to wail.

He sighed, clicked the light back on, and went to her crib. "One more story," he sais. "Just _one_."

He smiled, plucked her up, and settled in the rocking chair with Roald Dahl's _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. He hated board books. He wanted to read something he could enjoy. Judith settled sleepily back against his chest and stared blankly at the words on the page he was reading.

[*]

Daryl found a first aid kit in the store, picked the shrapnel out of the groaning monk's hand with tweezers, applied some antibiotic, and bandaged it. "It don't look too bad," he said. "I think the door slowed it down good. But I ain't no doctor. You'll have ta have Nadia look at it when we get back."

When Daryl was done with that, he and the monk joined Carol in the camping section. She was sitting in a camp chair and holding the girl on her lap. She seemed to have settled the child. Daryl looked at the stub at the end of the girl's right arm. "Well I guess that's why you ain't been snipin' with your brother."

The girl cringed when he spoke and sunk into Carol's arms. "You were gonna kill me," she said.

Anger and shame intertwined themselves in Daryl's gut. "Nah. Wasn't. But I reacted. Ya shot my friend."

"I don't blame you for that, little one," Brother Lawrence told the girl. "You didn't know we weren't there to hurt you. But I assure you, we're not."

[*]

Carol wasn't sure why, but the girl seemed to take to her like a baby chick gathering under the wing of a mother hen. The whole time she sat on Carol's lap, however, she continued to shoot terrified glances at Daryl. It probably didn't help that he kept asking her gruff questions. Carol didn't think he realized he sounded gruff, but he did.

"What happened to your hand?" he demanded.

"My dad bit me after he turned, and my brother had to cut it off."

"You always hide up in that ceilin' when people come?"

"Yes, because I can't shoot well with the one hand. I'm right handed."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Carol asked softly.

"Sofie."

A strangled sound escaped Carol's mouth, and the girl glanced at her, terrified. "It's okay," Carol told her. "It's just…I had a little girl named Sophia once."

"Where's my brother?" the little girl asked. "Where's Andy?"

"I'm sorry, honey," Carol said, stroking her hair, "But they got him. Those other bad men got him. He died."

The girl burst into a sudden wailing of tears. For the first time since grabbing hold of her, Carol's annoyance overwhelmed her sympathy. There was no _time_ for this grief.

"I'll calm her down," she said. "You two take care of the boy's body and start packing the truck and a trailer. We need to be out of here well before they come back. God knows how many of them there are."


	18. Chapter 18

Daryl carried Andrew's crumpled and bloodied body to the boat that housed the burnt-out shells of his mother, father, and brother and tumbled him on top.

"We can't burn him," the monk said. "The fire will call too much attention. If their camp is nearby..."

"And we ain't got time to bury him," Daryl agreed. "I'll seal the cover best I can."

As he did so, the monk prayed, "Go forth from this world, in the name of God the almighty Father, who created you…"

The words receded, and all Daryl saw was the work before him.

[*]

The girl had cried herself to sleep in Carol's arms. Even though she knew it was impractical, Carol continued to sit and hold Sofie. She should just lay the girl down and help the men pack. She knew the practical thing to do, but she didn't do it.

Carol hadn't been able to hold her own Sophia in her hour of greatest need, but she could hold this one. She cradled the sleeping girl until she fell asleep herself.

[*]

Brother Lawrence hiked back for the pick-up and drove it to Cabela's while Daryl, wearing his night vision goggles, began packing one of the trailers. Andrew's murderers had taken all of the remaining water and storage food as well as the rest of the propane and plenty of guns and ammo, but they hadn't touched the archery section. They hadn't bothered with reloading equipment, either. Daryl gathered more arrows, strings, cables, gun powder, reloading dies, primers, tools, small auto parts, empty gas cans, and tackle. He took five dirt bikes as well. The Council was always talking about the need for low-energy transportation, after all.

Brother Lawrence, upon his return, carried small items one by one in his non-injured hand. "Sorry I can't be of more help, but I was shot."

"I know," Daryl muttered. "You can stop whinin' like it was the injury of the century."

"It's my writing hand, too. I'm going to have to get someone to take dictation if I'm going to proceed with authoring my History of Alexandria."

"Don't you think it's a little soon to be writin' a history of a town that ain't survived two years? Maybe you should spend more time brewin' beer."

[*]

When Carol awoke, the girl was looking at her. "Is Alexandria really a nice place?" Sofie asked.

"Yes." Carol eased the girl off her lap. "You're going to love it there." She stood and took Sofie's one good hand and led her out to the parking lot. The men had filled the trailer, but there was still plenty of unused room in the bed of the pick-up. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon.

"Forget filling the whole thing," Carol said. "We need to get out of here. I'll drive, because I got some sleep."

"A'right," Daryl agreed. He glanced at the ATVs.

"No," Carol told him. "Those make too much noise. If their camp is around here, we don't need them hearing us when we're trying to sneak by. Besides, you've already got one just like it at home."

Daryl shook his head. "Women. Y'all always think one is enough." But he climbed into the passenger front seat.

The monk slid into the backseat with the girl.

"I'm really sorry I shot your hand, mister," she said.

"It's only a flesh wound," Brother Lawrence replied in a fake British accent, and she looked puzzled.

Daryl leaned back his seat, put his feet up on the dash, and closed his eyes. The girl, who was directly behind him, peered at him anxiously and scooted a little closer to the monk.

[*]

In two hours, Carol was nodding off. She pulled over, woke up Brother Lawrence, and asked him to drive.

"Seen anyone yet?" he asked when Carol was settled in the back seat.

"Not a soul. I think their camp must have been south of Cabela's. They probably work their way north to scavenge."

"Let's hope they never work their way to Alexandria," he said, and pulled back onto the road.

At some point, Sofie woke Carol with her crying. "I want Andy," the girl was sobbing.

Again, Carol's irritation mingled with her sympathy. "Your brother was very brave," Carol reassured her, "to protect you like that. But when we get to Alexandria, you're going to have to learn to protect yourself. You need to learn to shoot better with one hand. You should have been able to shoot Brother Lawrence multiple times in the gut."

"Why, thank you, Carol," Brother Lawrence said from the driver's seat.

Daryl swung his feet down from the dash, raised his seat back straight, and rubbed the sleep dust from his eyes. "Well," he said, "'s a big target."

 **[*]**

Twenty miles from Alexandria, they were running low on gas, so they pulled into a gas station to see if they could find anything remaining in the tanks or abandoned cars that surrounded it. The girl was sleeping, and the trio left her lying in the backseat of the truck, careful to stick nearby.

The monk was walking toward the mart to see if there was anything worthwhile inside, and Carol and Daryl were siphoning off some gas from a sedan, when Sofie suddenly screamed. They all rushed to the pick-up, weapons readied, and found the front door open and a man trying to wire the pick-up.

"That's my pick-up!" Daryl growled.

"Jesus!" Brother Lawrence yelled.

Daryl was surprised the monk would take the Lord's name in vain, until the thief slid out of his bent-over position, hands up, and turned.

"Sorry," Jesus said. "I didn't know the truck was yours, and I swear I didn't see the girl lying in the back seat when I started trying to wire it."

Carol slid into the backseat with the frightened girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You believe that?" Daryl asked the monk.

"I believe he didn't see the girl."

"He stole and sunk our supply truck once," Daryl grumbled.

Jesus held up one, leather gloved finger. "Well, no, I didn't. That was you and Rick who allowed that to happen."

Daryl growled.

"I really didn't know it was yours." Jesus pointed a finger slowly in the direction of the woods. "I came from there, and you were on the other side of the truck. I didn't see you. I thought you were those other men."

"What other men?" Daryl asked.

"There's been a scouting party of five men in these parts, on and off, over the past two weeks. Their leader wears a Hell's Angels jacket."

"Yeah, we seen 'em," Daryl said. "Hours south of here, though. One of 'ems dead now." Trying to keep the worry out of his voice, he asked, "How close to Alexandria you seen 'em?"

"Ten miles south of here, thirty miles from your gates," Jesus said. "That's as far as I've ever seen them scout. Their camp is south west of here. Waynesboro, I heard one of them say. I've considered approaching them and trying to establish a trading relationship."

"You don't want to do that," Daryl told him. "They ain't those kind of men."

"What kind of men are they?" Jesus asked.

"Thieves," Daryl spat, "murderers, and child rapists."

Jesus glanced in the truck where Sofie was sitting with Carol and looked sick to his stomach.

"We got her before they did," Brother Lawrence told him.

Jesus nodded. "Well, do you gentlemen have anything worth trading?"

"Do you?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Because you look rather empty-handed at the moment." He scanned the treeline. "Are you alone as usual?"

"Yes, I'm alone. And no, I don't have anything here at the moment. But back home, well...our cow had a calf a while ago."

Daryl looked at the monk. "We could use a calf."

"She's almost ready to be weaned," Jesus said. "And she'll give you milk eventually. We can trade you the calf for more guns and ammo. Are you still brewing beer, Brother?"

The monk nodded.

"Maybe you could throw in some beer."

"Carol needs eggs," Daryl told Jesus. " Y'all still got those three chickens?"

"We can get you some eggs."

Daryl glanced at Carol in the truck, and then looked back. "We want the chickens."

Jesus shook his head. "We won't be trading any chickens. But the eggs we can trade. I'll come by sometime in the next three weeks, when the calf's weaned. We'll bargain."

Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder. "Let's go," he told the monk. Brother Lawrence went around to the passenger's side while Daryl opened the driver's side door.

"Any chance I can get a lift?" Jesus asked.

Daryl left him standing in a cloud of dust.

[*]

After they pulled inside the gates of Alexandria, they left the truck and trailer to the sorters. Daryl drew Rick aside to discuss what had happened. Meanwhile, Carol, the girl, and the monk made their way to the infirmary.

"Daryl didn't do bad work," Nadia said as she examined the monk's hand. "But he missed some shrapnel." She picked it out to much grunting on the part of Brother Lawrence, and, when she had re-bandaged his hand, she said, "It's really not a bad injury. The door must have taken most of the brunt. You'll have full use of your hand again soon. But give it a rest. Don't use it for at least six days. No writing with it, no picking things up, no archery, no anything."

He slid off the exam table and nodded to the little girl. "Her turn."

Carol put a hand on Sofie's back and urged her toward the table. "It's okay," she said. "This is Dr. Yenin. She's going to examine you, make sure you're in good health, so you can be admitted to our community."

"Basic health screening," Nadia assured her, and the girl climbed up on the table. Nadia examined her stub and winced. "Shoddy work."

"My brother did it for me. He did the best he could!" Sofie started crying again.

Carol was again slightly annoyed by the flow of tears, but she didn't show it. There would be a time to toughen up the girl. Now was the time for grief. She put a hand on Sofie's back and whispered, "There, there, now. Get it out."

[*]

Rick paced the grass field between his house and the next, a hand wedged in his hair. This was it – the other shoe he'd been waiting to drop. In a bizarre way, it was almost a relief to know there was a good reason for his unshakable sense of readiness. Almost. The responsibility for the safety of a town weighed heavily on his shoulders. The tranquil domesticity he'd shared with Michonne these past few weeks seemed to vanish like a dream. "And Jesus said they've scouted as close as thirty miles?"

Daryl nodded.

"Shit!" Rick cursed. "They could stumble on us any week."

"Could."

"They sound worse than the Saviors."

"Maybe," Daryl said. "Ain't got any idea how big they are. How many."

"I'm calling an emergency council meeting," Rick insisted. "Help me get everyone assembled."


	19. Chapter 19

The new Alexandrian Council consisted of nine men and women who had been elected to serve after the monastery camp joined the community. The Council itself then voted for Rick to serve as its Chairman. Rick now stood toward the center of the living room, while most of the others sat in chairs or on the couch. Carol stood beside Daryl, who was leaned with his back against the wall by the fireplace.

"I motion we double the number of people on the watches," Rick announced after filling in everyone about the new threat. "We need to keep an eye out for that scouting party that's been making forays within thirty miles of Alexandria. We don't want them finding us and taking us by surprise."

"I second the motion," Carol said.

"All in favor?" Rick asked, and there was a chorus of ayes.

"Motion if they do spot Alexandria," Daryl said, "we kill 'em all 'fore they go back and tell their camp."

"I second the motion," Rick said immediately.

"No," Glenn countered. "That'll just bring war down on us. Like it did with the Saviors."

Abraham stood from his arm chair and drew himself up to his full form. "War was coming sooner or later."

Father Gabriel shook his head. "I don't know. If we had never tried to do the dirty work for that other camp, if we hadn't sullied ourselves and slaughtered his men in their sleep - "

"- We?" Abraham interrupted. "Who is this _we_? Because I sure don't remember you dirtying _your_ hands."

Father Gabriel tugged nervously on his clerical collar.

"I agree with Glenn," Michonne spoke up. Rick looked at her with surprise. "Let's not bring more trouble on ourselves by killing these men unless they actually _attack_ us. We don't want to _start_ a war if we don't have to."

Spencer, the only original inhabitant of Alexandria elected to the Council, nodded. "We need to play defense, not offense."

Carol took a step toward the center of the room. "We need to play both. These were terrible men. If they show up at our gates - we need to eliminate the threat before it grows. When they don't come back, their camp will likely assume walkers got them, or maybe people, but they won't be able to _find_ us."

"How do we know their entire camp won't come looking for them when they go missing?" Glenn asked.

"And how do we know they won't see what we have and bring back an army if we let them live?" Abraham countered.

"Let's just vote," Rick interrupted. "All in favor of killing this scouting party _on sight_ \- whether or not they attack us?"

Carol, Daryl, Rick, and Abraham said aye. Michonne, Glenn, Spencer, and Father Gabriel said nay. They all turned to Brother Lawrence, the single representative of the monastery camp on the council.

Father Gabriel implored him, "Doesn't the Bible say not to initiate harm, indeed, even to love your enemy?"

"It does." Brother Lawrence scratched his cheek. **"** Yet it also says **-** _whosoever shall offend one of these little ones, it is better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the sea._ They were all going to stand by while one of their own raped that little girl."

"Is that an aye?" Rick asked.

The monk nodded. "It's an aye."

"Then it's decided," Rick announced. "Orders to the watch will be to shoot on sight."

Michonne shook her head slightly.

Rick looked away from her and continued, "Now about this girl. We need to discuss where we should house her."

"She could stay in Kendra's room," Spencer suggested. "There are two twin beds in there. She'd be in the same house with all the kids, and Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Campbell and - "

"- Do you actually call her Mrs. Robinson when you're knocking boots?" Abraham asked.

Spencer took an angry step toward him. Abraham apologized and Spencer settled down.

"I second the motion," Rick said.

"Wait," Carol spoke up. "The girl's taken to me. Maybe, for the first week or two, until she's comfortable here, she should stay with me. I have a trundle bed under my bed."

It was decided the girl would stay with Carol until she felt safe in Alexandria, and then she could be moved to Kendra's room in the house with the single mothers and other children.

"Let's give her another day," Rick said, "and then she can start school."

"Why?" Daryl asked. "'S the point of makin' these kids keep goin' once they can read and do basic math? Why waste time studyin' history and poetry and music and all that shit? They should be spendin' more time workin' apprenticeships."

"I beg to differ," Brother Lawrence said. "A basic liberal arts education is essential for broadening the mind. It feeds the soul. It teaches us to think critically, and thinking is a skill we're going to need to face the challenges that - "

"- Ain't practical for survival," Daryl interrupted.

"Surviving isn't _living_ ," the monk told him.

"We've been through this before," Rick said. "We voted. Fifteen hours a week of school for any child under fourteen. That leaves plenty of time for apprenticeships and chores. Speaking of which, what are we going to have Sofie do?"

"She can work with me," Carol offered. "I don't have an apprentice yet. I can teach her to garden and cook with one hand." Almost beneath her breath, she said, "And to stab and shoot."

[*]

That night, when Judith was fast asleep in her crib, and Carl had retreated to his room, Rick asked Michonne, "Why didn't you back me up?"

Michonne sheathed the katana she'd been cleaning and eased back into the arm chair. "Back you up? Is that my job?"

"I just…you usually agree with me."

"Not on everything I don't. Not on this. We don't know anything about these people. We have no idea how large their camp is. If we kill them on sight, without cause…Glenn's right. We _could_ start a war. A war we're not prepared for. We already lost so many to the fight with the Saviors. For all we know, they'd leave us alone if we didn't provoke them."

"They didn't leave that boy alone in Cabela's. They weren't going to leave Sofie alone."

"Those kids were vulnerable. These men may prey on the weak, but that doesn't mean they would attack us without provocation. I'm not sure we should give them that provocation."

"But if we don't kill them, and they spy us and get away, they could go back to their camp and bring an army to our gates!"

Michonne waved a hand. "You got what you wanted. The Council approved your plan. So why are we arguing?"

"I just don't get why you don't agree."

Michonne shook her head. "I don't have to agree. We don't have to agree on everything. There's a reason we have a Council. We aren't King Rick and Queen Michonne." She stood up. "I'm headed to bed."

Rick watched her make her way up the stairs, shook off his annoyance, and followed.

[*]

Daryl was cleaning Carol's rifle on the table one evening when Sofie came into the kitchen, saw him, and began backing out. She'd been in this house six days now, and she still seemed to fear him. "Get in here, Sofie," he said. "Get your cookie." He assumed that's what she was after.

She tiptoed back into the kitchen. "I already had two."

"Ya can have my second one."

Sofie glanced at the AR-15 that was in pieces on the tablecloth as she inched her way in. She walked to the counter and worked the tupperware container open with her good hand and snaked the cookie out.

Daryl had caught glimpses of Carol's interactions with Sofie. She was teaching the girl to cook, garden, and shoot better. Carol had cared for other children, of course, those two sisters, Mika and Lizzie, but she hadn't seemed to have _this_ kind of connection with them. With those girls, she'd never really let herself show the kind of affection Daryl sometimes caught her showing Sofie.

"I weren't gonna shoot you, you know," Daryl told her. "At the Cabela's."

"Yes, you were," Sofie said, with hesitant defiance, "but Ms. Carol didn't let you."

"Well, I ain't gonna shoot you now."

The girl took her cookie with her and scurried from the kitchen.

Daryl began angrily ramming a cleaning rod through the barrel of the gun. Carol, he thought, was becoming a mother again, but not a mother in search of her lost daughter. Not a mother who needed or wanted _his_ help.

He was tossing the barrel roughly on the table when Brother Lawrence walked into the kitchen. "Try a little tenderness," the monk told him. "Carol's not going to like you throwing parts of her favorite rifle around like that."

"Cleanin' it for her," Daryl muttered.

"She's also not going to like that you're doing that on her nice white tablecloth."

Daryl looked down at the black splotches against the white fabric and wished he'd though to put down a drop cloth. "Brother Stephen can wash it."

Brother Lawrence filled up a glass of water from the tap and then took a cookie from the tupperware container. "Carol's a fantastic baker, isn't she?"

Daryl roughly shook a can of lube and then sprayed it on the next part he was working on, but he didn't answer.

The monk sat down on the table across from him. "She's really taken to that girl. Hasn't she?"

Daryl supposed the monk wasn't going to take silence as a signal to leave him the hell alone. "Sofie reminds her of her daughter. Looks a little like her. Hell, they practically got the same name."

"Odd coincidence, that," the monk said. "One might even see the hand of God in it."

"Yeah, well, where was the hand of God when that little girl's hand had to be cut off? When her whole damn family was killed?"

"You don't think she's a blessing, this girl?" Brother Lawrence asked. "A way, perhaps, for Carol to heal more fully from the loss of her own daughter?"

Daryl grunted noncomittaly.

Brother Lawrence chewed his cookie, piece by tiny piece, in silence while Daryl cleaned. Then he slowly sipped his water. When he set down the empty glass, he said, "They say when a new child is born, the husband always becomes jealous. It's because he's not the center of the wife's attention anymore."

Daryl looked up from the disassembled gun. "Ain't you got a history to write?"


	20. Chapter 20

Sofie warmed slightly to Daryl over the next week, probably because he so often had Ethan in tow. Sofie seemed to relate to Ethan. Maybe the boy, who was becoming quite the little marksman, reminded her of her big brother, even though he was three years younger.

"I'm only two years younger!" Ethan insisted when Daryl mentioned their age difference. "I turned nine yesterday!"

"Did ya?" Daryl asked him. They were sitting on the porch of Daryl's house and skinning fox squirrels. "Why in the hell didn't ya tell me? I'd of got ya somethin'." No one had ever given Daryl a birthday present. He wasn't even quite sure when his birthday was. He'd had to find out once - he'd gotten his birth certificate pulled to apply for his driver's license - but he hadn't thought about it since.

Ethan shrugged. "You already got me those extra arrows. And that animal sign book."

Daryl had picked that up at Cabela's. They'd been going over the pictures and text together. That was Daryl's idea of an education. "You're gettin' too much of the flesh," he warned Ethan. "Look here, boy. Like this." He wiped his knife off on his pants and then began lightly flaying the squirrel.

"Guess I'm showing you how to make a squirrel stew tonight, Sofie." Daryl looked up from where he sat on the porch to see Carol standing at the bottom of the steps with a faint smile on her face. "I thought we agreed you'd do the skinning on the _back_ porch, Pookie."

"Women," Ethan muttered.

Carol took the steps up to the porch. "Oh, his mother's going to love that you taught him that."

"Look, Sofie!" Ethan exclaimed, holding the squirrel up by its feet. A piece of loose skin flapped off.

"Ewww!" the little girl said.

Carol shook her head and made her way inside the house, with Sofie fast behind.

Daryl handed Ethan another squirrel.

"Do you like Ms. Peletier?" Ethan asked.

"Sure I like 'er."

"No, I mean, do you _like her_ like her?"

"Skin that damn squirrel," Daryl ordered.

 **[*]**

When Daryl walked Ethan back home that evening, with a tupperware bowl full of the squirrel stew Carol had prepared, he found Brother Lawrence leaving the house. "Karen's kindly agreed to take dictation for me so I can keep writing my history," the monk explained to Daryl. He opened and closed his hand. "It's still giving me trouble. Might be another week before I can write."

"You were usin' it just fine at the archery range this mornin'," Daryl said.

"Yes, well, I don't want to tax it with too much writing."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Ethan's mom asked the monk.

Brother Lawrence nodded. "Thank you for your help, Karen." He began walking down the porch stairs.

Daryl handed Karen the stew. "Ethan caught this. Carol cooked it." Then he followed the monk. As they walked to the house, Daryl said, "Stew's ready but everyone's waitin' for us to eat."

"Nadia, too?"

"Nah. She's uh...havin' dinner over at Tom Miller's." Tom was one of the original inhabitants of Alexandria, a master carpenter who was now training Carl at Rick's request.

"Is she? Again?" Brother Lawrence asked. "Well good for her, I suppose. At least she seems happier."

Daryl said nothing, but he sympathized with the bitter edge in the monk's voice. If Carol was eating dinner with some man twice a week, Daryl would be bothered. He'd been bothered when she flirted with Axel in the prison. Bothered when she'd moved in with Tobin. Irritated when she'd let Brother Lawrence kiss her under that mistletoe. Hell, he'd even been a little annoyed when Sofie became her pet project. If he was honest, he was bothered just about any time someone crept into their private sphere, and he wasn't even in love with Carol.

 _Was he?_

Daryl's footsteps slowed.

"Something wrong?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Daryl shook his head. "Nah."

"You look like you've just had some kind of sudden revelation."

"Nah. Just realized I forgot to turn off a light this mornin.'" Daryl walked faster, leaving the monk in his wake.

[*]

Carl Grimes rotated his arm and groaned.

"Been doing a lot of building today with Tom Miller?" Michonne asked him as she dumped a can of soup into a pot.

"I swear, he's having me do all the grunt work. I'm not learning anything cool."

"That's what the Karate Kid thought at first, but, all along, Mr. Miyagi was making sure he was laying a foundation."

"Who?"

"The…never mind." A quiet sense of loss creeped through Michonne's nerves. It wasn't the sense of nostalgia any adult might feel for a bygone time, but something deeper, sadder, and more bitter than sweet. That old, big, bustling world – with all its movies and theaters, glowing television sets and computers, schools and gyms, churches and community centers – it was all gone now. It was never coming back.

Her melancholy was pierced by Rick's voice in the foyer. "Honey, I'm home!" He said that every time he got back to the house after she did, with a smirk on his face, yelling in a big, classic-movie-style voice.

Despite the momentary heaviness in her heart, Michonne's face broke into an unstoppable smile. That former world might be gone, but they were building a new world here, like a junkyard artist taking the discarded scraps of old lives and striving to make something beautiful from them. "We're in the kitchen!" she called back.

[*]

Daryl must have loved her squirrel stew, Carol thought, because he wolfed it down in five spoonfuls and then drained the broth with two long slurps. He belched once and remembered to say, "Excuse me" - an improvement in manners, Carol thought. But there was nothing mannered in the way he left the dinner table without even looking at her.

Carol didn't see him the rest of the night. She turned in early with Sofie, and they read to each other until Sofie fell asleep.

Later that night, the girl awoke Carol with her scream. Sofie was still having nightmares about her brother's death.

Carol rolled onto her side and reached down to the trundle bed below. She stroked the girl's hair, so alike in color to her own Sophia's, but longer and thicker. "Shhh..." she told her. "It's okay."

"I miss Andrew."

"We're your family now. All of us in Alexandria. And tomorrow, you'll move in to Mrs. Robinson's house, and Kendra will be your sister."

"I don't want to live in that house."

"They're good people, Sofie. It'll be better for you there. There will be other kids. And I'll see you every day. We're going to work in the greenhouse together, and I'm going to keep teaching you to shoot."

The girl sniffled. Carol continued to stroke her hair until she'd fallen back to sleep. Once again, she felt that strange mix of compassion and irritation. Carol wondered if she was still capable of being a decent mother, if some nurturing part of her had died. But maybe children in this world needed a different kind of mother anyway.

Maybe, if she'd been a different kind of mother back then, her real daughter never would have died.

[*]

Daryl awoke early the next morning. His internal clock never could make it past 6:00 AM. When he was fixing coffee in the kitchen, he saw Brother Lawrence out on the back porch, saying his rosary. Daryl ventured outside, sat in the rocking chair with a cup of coffee in each hand, and waited for him to be done.

When the monk rose from his kneeling posture and turned, Daryl extended a cup.

"Why thank you," Brother Lawrence said, looking surprised and suspicious. He took a seat in the rocking chair beside him.

They sipped in silence for a long while. Daryl put his feet up on the wicker hassock in front of the rocking chair and let his coffee cup rest on his thigh.

"Did you come out here to talk to me about something?" the monk asked eventually.

Daryl thought of just going back inside. He even turned and looked back at the screen door that opened on the kitchen. But then he looked forward again and said, "Yer right."

"About?"

"'Bout what you said. 'Bout I ain't never had a girlfriend."

"Ah."

"I mean, I've _had_ women. I just ain't never had _a_ woman. One that's...uh...mine." Daryl narrowed his eyes at the monk. "You ain't allowed to tell anyone anythin' I say, are you?"

Brother Lawrence looked around. "This porch can be a confessional if you want."

Daryl ran a thumb over the handle of his coffee mug. "Dunno what I want."

"I do."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Carol."

Abruptly, Daryl looked down at the brown liquid in his cup.

"Carpe diem," the monk whispered.

Daryl leaned his head back against the rocking chair. "She ain't…that ain't…that just ain't how we are."

"That's not how you are only because _you_ haven't made a move."

"She ain't neither."

The monk laughed. "She's made a hundred, you mule-headed buffoon. You've shrugged every one of them off."

"Those are jokes! Carol's always jokin'."

"She couches her affection in jokes for her own self-protection." Brother Lawrence sipped his coffee and chuckled. "Your social ineptitude is really quite profound."

"Well, yer pretty screwed up yerself!" Daryl said defensively. "Ain't you supposed to be celibate? And here you are, out chasin' - "

"- I _am_ celibate," the monk said. "Nadia's certainly not interested in me any longer, if she ever really was. And I'm _not_ chasing Karen Campbell if that's what you think. I just enjoy her company. And she actually _likes_ the history I'm writing."

Daryl looked at him. "Who said a damn thing 'bout Karen Campbell?"

The monk looked away.

"Ethan's mom?" Daryl asked.

Brother Lawrence scratched his head but said nothing.

They fell into silence for a while.

Daryl looked out over the porch railing at the garden Carol had started in the back yard. It was dead now, but there had been carrots, onions, and rutabaga before the first killing frost. She was planning to plant collards in spring, because he'd mentioned how much he missed fried green tomatoes and collard greens. "Ya really think Carol might..." He couldn't finish the question.

"Those scars on your back," the monk said. "I saw them when you climbed in that sleeping bag with Carol. Were you abused as a child?"

Daryl didn't answer. He sipped his coffee instead.

"You think you're not worthy of love," the monk said matter-of-factly. "Carol probably believes that about herself, too. I bet that husband of hers tore her down daily."

"You know 'bout what an asshole he was?" Daryl asked. "She told you?"

"Not in so many words, no, but I figured it out."

Daryl looked down in his cup, where light from the rising sun shimmered in a swirl on the dark brown surface of the coffee. They rocked in silence. They sipped. A red cardinal alighted on the porch railing, craned its head at them as if puzzled, and then flew off.

"Kiss the girl," Brother Lawrence murmured.

"What?"

" _Kiss_ the girl. Do you want me to start singing the song? From _The Little Mermaid_?"

"Please don't."

The monk held up his cup. "You just brought me coffee. Why can't you bring _her_ coffee? Room service?"

"Well, Sofie's in there." The girl was moving into the other house today, where she would share a room with Kendra, but she was still with Carol for now.

"Then bring Sofie some hot chocolate, too."

[*]

Daryl studied Carol's bedroom door and considered how to knock with a steaming cup in each of his hands.

Finally, he just kicked the door.

Three times.


	21. Chapter 21

Carol was just making the bed when she heard the knock on the door. "Can you get that, Sofie?" The girl answered and then steeped back immediately as if surprised.

"I ain't gonna eat ya," came Daryl's deep voice. "Brought ya hot chocolate." He took a step inside.

Sofie took the offered cup and murmured, "Thank you."

Carol stopped making the bed and looked at him curiously.

"Sorry if'n I woke y," he said. He held up the coffee. "Coffee."

He looked strange, standing there in the doorway, holding up a cup of coffee, like a waiter, but with the muscles of his strong shoulders rippling. Carol felt a surge of affection and laughed.

[*]

"How long before the coffee grounds spoil?" Michonne asked as Rick pushed the handle of the French Press down to drive the brown flecks to the bottom of the glass. That old, familiar aroma wafted to her nose.

"Well, the regular grounds are already starting to taste flat, but the instant coffee can last twenty years."

"I guess we _could_ eventually grow coffee beans," Michonne said, "but that seems a waste of resources and land space."

"It does," Rick agreed as he poured her a cup. "We're using all the land we have. But we should grow more crops. We might want to fence in additional land."

"Bring it up at the next Council meeting."

Carl padded, stocking foot, into the kitchen and scratched his head.

"You need to let me cut that hair," Michonne told him.

"I need a cup of coffee."

Rick shook his head. "No reason to develop the habit. We won't have it forever."

[*]

 _Damn that monk_ , Daryl thought. Carol was laughing at him. She thought it was a joke, him bringing her coffee. It _was_ a joke. Who was he kidding? This wasn't a goddamn romance novel he was living in.

"Sorry," Carol said. "You just looked like a waiter from a Chippendale strip club."

"You spend a lot of time in strip clubs?" he asked gruffly.

"What's a strip club?" Sofie wanted to know.

"Nothing you'll ever have to worry about in Alexandria, I don't think," Carol said.

Carol took the cup from Daryl's hands and lightly brushed his fingers while she did it. Was that intentional? It _seemed_ intentional. Maybe the damn monk _was_ right. How many dozens of times had she done something like that, and he hadn't noticed, or he'd just put it down to friendly affection?

"Did I wake y'all?" he asked.

"We were waking up anyway," Carol said. "Sofie and I have to get an early start. We're moving her things over to Kendra's house, getting her settled in her new room, and then we're going to do some canning today."

Daryl nodded. "I'm takin' Ethan out. Maybe get a wild turkey. Or grouse. Fox squirrel, if nothin' else."

"Please, no more squirrel stew," Sofie begged.

Carol smiled. "I'm getting a little tired of it too. And there _is_ canned storage meat in the pantry. We haven't used our rations for the week."

"A'ight. Won't bring back squirrel."

Carol sipped the coffee. Daryl watched her and shifted awkwardly on his feet, not knowing what he was supposed to do next. She seemed to sense his discomfort, because she said, "Go on downstairs. I'll make the house some eggless pancakes, since Jesus _still_ hasn't come to trade yet. One day, I'll be able to make them without applesauce."

[*]

Michonne slid her katana into the sheath on her back and walked out onto the porch beside Rick. "What are you up to today?" he asked.

"Well, I'm going to practice my forms, teach an art class at the school, and then I think I have to relieve you."

Rick wiggled an eyebrow. "I could definitely use some relief."

"On _watch,_ I meant." She smacked his ass playfully. "But maybe later tonight I'll relieve you in other ways." She chuckled as she strutted down the porch stairs.

[*]

The stack of pancakes Carol had placed in the center of the table quickly disappeared. Daryl shoveled the food into his mouth like a steam engine, while intermittently casting furtive glances across the table at Carol, as if he wanted to say something to her. But he didn't.

"Not breakfasting with _Tom_ this morning?" Brother Lawrence asked Nadia pointedly.

"Did you know that Tom's sister was a psychology major in the old world?" Nadia replied. "And a counselor."

"I did not know that."

"She's been counseling me. After dinner. That's why I've been going there twice a week."

A look of hope crossed Brother Lawrence's face as he sat back in his chair. "Good. I hope it helps. I sincerely do."

Brother Stephen put his fork down and announced, "I'm moving in with the rest of the monks."

Carol shot him a befuddled expression. "You have your own room here. They're two to a room in that house."

"These rooms are three times the size of my cell in the monastery. It's too big, this bedroom here."

"Well, we'll miss you," Carol told him. She'd miss the way he cleaned the house.

"If Brother Stephen is moving out," Sofie asked, "Can I stay here and have his room?"

"Wouldn't you rather be in a house with the other kids, sweetheart?" Carol asked.

"I'd rather be with _you._ I can see my friends in school."

Carol felt at once touched and overwhelmed by the request. If Sofie continued to live in the same house as her, the whole community might come to regard her as Carol's daughter. Sofie might come to think of Carol as her mother. Did she want that responsibility? Did she want to risk loving and possibly losing another child?

"Please?" Sofie asked, her large blue eyes widening. "It would be a waste of a room otherwise."

"Well," Carol said softly, "I'll clear it with the Council, but I think maybe that would be fine."

Sofie grinned and resumed eating.

Brother Stephen picked up his fork again, but he didn't eat. He spoke to Brother Lawrence without looking at him. "I've been talking with the other monks, and we're all agreed."

"Agreed about what?" Brother Lawrence asked.

"We've elected a new abbot to replace you. Brother Timothy. You were never meant to be abbot anyway. You only assumed the role because Brother Anton died, and we let you give orders at the time, you were so desperate to rescue Nadia."

Nadia put a hand near Brother Lawrence's on the table, so that their pinkies almost touched. Brother Lawrence looked down at her hand. Then he looked back at the younger monk. "You're _all_ agreed?"

"All of us. You're too much in the world, brother. You insisted on living in this house," Brother Stephen glanced at Nadia's hand near his, "instead of with the other monks. You're always leaving to go on these supply runs. You simply aren't around regularly to lead us. And you've stopped wearing your cassock." Brother Stephen gripped his coffee cup. "Also," he said, "when your term is up on the Alexandrian Council, we don't intend to nominate you again. We need someone who truly represents _our_ interests on the Council. We'll be backing Brother Timothy next time."

"Brother Timothy? He didn't even fight in the war. He stayed behind at the monastery."

"To guard the women and children."

"And a fine lot of good he did!" Brother Lawrence exclaimed. "The Saviors burned the monastery to the ground. They killed half the people in it!"

"He saved the other half, and we aren't at war anymore anyway. He understands our needs. We're already vastly outnumbered on that council. The prison camp controls it almost entirely, with just one of the original Alexandrians and one of us. How did that even happen?"

"Let us not forget we were refugees here," Brother Lawrence said.

"So was the prison camp," Brother Stephen, glancing at Carol and Daryl.

"No," Brother Lawrence replied. "They were brought in by special request to preserve Alexandria. You can read all this in my history, brother."

Brother Stephen shook his head. "That's another thing. Your vanity. So you were a church historian before the Outbreak. So you had six books and all those writing prizes to your name."

Carol raised an eyebrow. She hadn't known about any of that. How little they knew about some of these people's old lives, in that other world, in that other lifetime. In this sea of death, there was a chance to be reborn, to reinvent oneself. She certainly had. So had Daryl. But there was also a chance to lose oneself, to lose one's humanity. Brother Lawrence, in writing his history, was, she supposed, clinging to some old, beloved part of himself, a bridge to his past humanity.

"At any rate," Brother Stephen continued, "you cannot be our abbot any longer. We're decided."

"Well, if it's decided," Brother Lawrence said. "Then it's decided." He pushed back from the table. "Thank you for the breakfast, Carol. Now I think I'll go work on my book. I'm outlining the chapter about the monastery now. You'll have a section all to yourself, Brother Stephen, about your superb laundry skills." He strode from the kitchen.

Carol glanced at Daryl, who seemed incurious about the dramatic exchange that had just unraveled at their breakfast table. "Great pancakes," he muttered, his mouth still partway full, motioning to his plate with his fork. "Damn good."

[*]

Carol settled Sofie into Brother Stephen's old room and promised they'd paint it later. Next they cooked and canned beets. Later, Carol and Sofie returned to the greenhouse to do a little planting of herbs. They were on their knees, with their hands - and Sofie's stub - covered in dirt in the pots, when the temperature seemed to change. They looked up and saw that Daryl and Ethan had walked inside, both with a bow and quiver on their backs.

"Look, Sofie," Ethan exclaimed. "Look what I got!" He held up a bird by its feet.

Sofie stood, and then a casual mask descended on her face. She dusted the dirt off against her jeans. "What is it?" she asked dismissively.

"It's a –" Ethan paused in his excitement and turned to Daryl.

"Grouse," Daryl said.

"Grouse," Ethan repeated.

"What's it taste like?" Sofie asked.

Ethan looked at Daryl.

"It don't taste like chicken," Daryl said.

"Not like chicken," Ethan told her.

"It's tiny," Sofie said. "It's smaller than a chicken."

Ethan puffed up his little chest. "It's meat though. Fresh meat. Real meat."

Daryl glanced at the corner of the greenhouse, where Carol had planted two small pots of Cherokee rose.

"It's my favorite flower now," Carol explained. "Ever since you brought it to me." He looked back at her. There was something different in his eyes, something she wasn't used to seeing, and she couldn't quite tell what it was. She wondered if he thought it was a silly, romantic notion of hers, to have a favorite flower in this world, or to have it because of him. "I know I shouldn't be wasting valuable space in here for flowers, I just - "

"- You deserve it," Daryl said. "Grow all the damn flowers you want." Daryl glanced down at Ethan. "Why don't y'all kids bring that bird to the house? You can show Sofie how to pluck it."

Sofie looked hesitantly at Ethan. Then she walked over to him and asked, "Did you get it all by yourself?"

Ethan nodded proudly.

"Cool," Sofie said, and they were out the greenhouse door.

Carol chuckled. "Should we arrange their marriage now?" she joked. "What will you take in dowry? A couple dozen of my cookies?"

"Nah, I'm gonna need more than that for Ethan," said Daryl, taking two steps closer to her. "He's a prize."

Carol smacked her hands together to wipe off the dirt, walked up to stand in front of him, and put a hand on each of her hips. "I'll toss in three dozen blueberry muffins."

"Not enough," he said, the edge of his mouth twisting into a faint smile.

"What then?

Daryl looked down at the earthen floor of the greenhouse. "I uh…might take a kiss."

[*]

A truck pulled to a squealing stop in front of Alexandria's fence.

Rick, from where he stood on the platform along the top of the fence, leveled his rifle. Through the windshield, he spied Jesus and lowered his weapon. The Hilltop's emissary had finally come to trade. Rick called down to Michonne, who had come to relive him on watch and was just now at the bottom of the ladder: "Roll the gate open. It's Jesus."

Rick looked back down at Jesus, whose blue eyes were cool with warning. The man nodded ever so slightly in the direction of the truck. Below, Michonne had rolled the gate one fifth of the way open. "Shut it!" Rick cried.

[*]

Daryl wished he hadn't said it, because Carol didn't say anything in response.

Nothing.

Not a goddamn word.

Daryl could feel his cheeks growing hot. He studied the ground.

But then her fingertip was under his chin, and she tilted his head until he was looking in her eyes. He didn't have the bangs anymore to hide those eyes, or the insecure longing in them.

She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

[*]

Michonne, responding to the urgency in Rick's tone, ran forward and slammed the gate shut again. Just as she was locking it, armed men spilled out of the truck, ten in and all. One, who wore a Hell's Angels jacket, pressed a gun to Jesus's temple and cried, "You gave it away, you fucker!"

He looked up at Rick. "Let us in, or your friend dies."

"Whatever you say," Rick replied calmly. "Just don't hurt him. Please."

He scurried down from the top of the fence. "Run," he ordered Michonne in whisper. "Get Daryl and Carol and any other fighters you can. I think it's the men who killed that boy in Cabela's. They must have hijacked Jesus when he was on his way here to trade."

[*]

Daryl tasted like Carol had imagined. Like tobacco and salt. Like a dry Virginia wine and a good country ham, and….oh God…his tongue felt amazing inside her mouth, tangling with hers. His sinewy arms wrapped firmly and possessively around her, and his hands were warm against her back. She'd expected some hesitant, cautious kiss, but this was more like being swept away by a flash flood.

Above the sound of their lips meeting and their hearts beating came a sudden woosh as the greenhouse door opened, and then Michonne shouting, "Grab your weapons! Come quick!"

Daryl pulled away from Carol, slung his crossbow off his shoulder, and ran after Michonne. Carol plucked her AR-15 from where it was leaned against the side of the greenhouse.

Michonne explained the situation as they ran. When they arrived, Rick and six other Alexandrians already lined the top of the fence, with their rifles pointed below. Carol mounted the ladder to stand alongside Rick while Daryl and Michonne organized the boots on the ground.

Once up top, Carol looked down over the wall. How long had these men known about Alexandria? How long had they been watching them?

The man with the gun to Jesus's head said, "Are you going to open these gates or not?"

"Let him go," Rick insisted. "Let him back in the woods, and _then_ we'll talk."

"Hell no!" the group's leader shouted back, pushing the barrel harder against Jesus's temple. "You let us in, or we blow out his brains."

"We're not letting you in here under any circumstances," Carol told him.

"You don't care if he dies?"

"He's not one of ours." Rick sounded disinterested, but Carol knew he was just faking it. Jesus seemed less certain, because his face contorted into a _gee thanks_ look. "Even if he _was_ , we aren't trading one life for a hundred. And that's how many armed, highly trained people we have in here," Rick lied. "So if I were you, I'd leave Jesus, get in his truck - help yourself to whatever he's got in there - and drive on back to your own camp. Because otherwise, we're going to have to kill you all." They were going to kill them all no matter what, Carol thought, but Rick was clearly buying time.

The leader took his gun off of Jesus and pointed it up at Rick. "We'll kill all of you along that wall first. We're gun to gun with you right now. Who do you think's the better shot?"

[*]

Carl Grimes, who had been on top of one of the roofs of Alexandria scouring all four sides of the fence, now skidded to a stop in front of Michonne and Daryl. " There's no one else on any side of the fence," he said. "Not that I can see. This may be all of them."

Daryl motioned up to Carol, who climbed down while Rick continued negotiating with the leader below.

"We've lined up people down here along the manholes," Michonne told her. They had drilled holes along the front of the fence and then covered them with flip covers, so they could shoot out of them when necessary.

"When I whistle," Daryl added, "all y'all start shootin' up there, and we'll start shootin' down here."

Carol nodded and climbed back up to spread the word, person to person, along the upper wall.

[*]

"What are you whispering about up there?" the man in the Hells Angels jacket called. "Look, there's ten of us with guns and eight of you with guns, and we are damn fine shots down here. Just open up before you lose half your people."

Daryl's shrill whistle pierced the air.

The manhole covers slammed up, and gunfire erupted all around.

[*]

When every enemy lay dead on the ground outside the walls of Alexandria, the gates were rolled open. Daryl tore out the moment he could squeeze through. Retching, he fell to his knees before Carol, who lay bleeding on the ground. He scooped her into his arms. She'd been shot while leaning forward to fire and had toppled down over the wall.


	22. Chapter 22

Daryl fell to his knees before Carol, rolled her gently over, and saw the blood seeping through her shirt. Her face was pale and motionless. He bent his head and turned his ear to her lips.

When he felt her faint breath tickle his earlobe, Daryl wept.

[*]

"Are you all right?" Michonne shouted up to Rick. She'd seen Carol fall. She didn't know who else might have been shot.

"I'm fine!" he cried back. "Get the medical cart!"

Michonne ran through Alexandria to the clinic, her lean legs and arms pumping furiously, and leapt into one of the golf carts that had been converted into a gurney for medical transport. Nadia hastened out of the infirmary. "What's happening?" she asked.

"There was an attack. The enemy is fallen but Carol was shot. Get ready for her."

Nadia nodded as the cart whined off toward the front gate, with Michonne pushing the accelerator down as far as it could go.

[*]

Daryl carried Carol, cradled in his arms, into the infirmary and lay her on a table.

"Rip her shirt open," Nadia ordered as she frantically finished scrubbing her hands in the sink.

"What?"

"Do it! Hurry!"

Daryl gripped the placket of Carol's blouse and tore it apart. Two buttons popped off in the process, while the rest just pulled through the holes. Nadia grabbed a fresh cloth, plowed him out of the way, and began applying pressure to Carol's wound near her shoulder. Carol gasped and choked her way to temporary consciousness.

Young Kendra ran into the room and began scrubbing her hands in the sink. "I'm here to assist, doctor. What do you need me to do?"

"Pour some alcohol on a cloth."

Daryl drew closer, his hand lodged in his hair, watching as Carol faded to unconsciousness again.

"Step back," Nadia ordered him.

Brother Lawrence walked in with Jesus's arm around his shoulders. The monk settled him into a sitting position on the other exam table. Blood seeped through the fingers Jesus was holding against his ear. Nadia glanced at him. "Looks superficial. You'll have to wait."

Kendra handed her the soaked cloth, and Nadia pushed it against the bleeding flesh, which caused Carol to regain consciousness again and scream. Daryl took an anxious step closer.

"Get him out of my way, Lawrence, please," Nadia said.

Brother Lawrence put a hand on Daryl's shoulder and pushed him toward an area outside the operating room.

"Kendra, get me my scalpel and the pinchers," Nadia ordered.

Daryl watched over the supply counter as Nadia poured alcohol on the tools and then began to cut and twist the bullet free from the wound. Again, Carol came to, screaming. He began to stride toward her, but the monk held him back. "Give Nadia space to work."

Daryl remained on the other side of the counter, where he paced like a caged animal.

[*]

When Daryl was finally allowed back beside her, Carol lay on her back on one of the tables. Jesus was lying not far away, his head wrapped in a bandage that replaced his usual cap. Nadia shone a light in his eyes and demanded that he follow it.

Daryl looked down at Carol and swallowed. Her right arm was in a sling and bent across her chest, while a large bandage was taped to the skin near her shoulder. Her eyes were closed.

"She broke her arm," Kendra explained to him. "At least that broke her fall."

"Is she gonna be a'right?"

Kendra glanced at Nadia, who was just shutting off her light and standing up from her bent position.

"She's going to be live." Nadia slid the light into her shirt pocket. "The bullet lodged in her subscapularis. I was able to get it out. No damage to any major organs. I splinted the arm. I'll check on her daily to make sure the splint is holding. It will heal. She lost a lot of blood, but not nearly as much as you did when you were shot, and you lived." She turned to Jesus. "You can get up now. You're fine. The bullet only grazed your ear."

Jesus sat, swung his feet off the table, and stood. He winced. "I feel dizzy."

"You lost some blood. Go drink some Gatorade. It's under the counter there. Show him, Kendra." When the girl lead Jesus away, Nadia turned to Daryl. "I want Carol to stay for an hour so I can observe her and make sure she's safe to be moved. Then we can transfer her to her own bed at the house."

"Is she just sleepin'? Or is she passed out?"

"She's passed out from the shock, but she'll come to shortly."

Daryl stroked Carol's hair, leaned down, and kissed her forehead.

[*]

Rick had recently begun the emergency Council meeting in his living room when Daryl slipped inside and took his usual spot by the mantle.

"Carol?" Rick asked.

Daryl nodded. "Got her settled in her own bed. She's sleepin'. Doc says she'll be a'right."

"Praise God," Father Gabriel breathed, and Daryl tensed.

"I don't know if you know," Rick told Daryl. "But Spencer was killed in the exchange. Two of the brothers are digging his grave. We're going to need to elect a replacement for him, but for now, we'll operate with just eight. Well, seven, until Carol is better."

"Why are we gathered?" Abraham asked.

"We need to organize a party," Rick said, "to scout the area and make sure there are no more of these men readying to attack us."

"I'll go," Daryl said.

"You should stay with Carol," Brother Lawrence told him.

"I can track. Do Carol more good findin' the rest of these assholes than I will bringin' her tea, that's for damn sure."

"Very well," Brother Lawrence said. "I'll go, too."

"I'd love to be in on this," Glenn said, "but Maggie's been having those Braxton Hicks contractions, at least, we think that's what they are, and - "

"- No one expects you to go," Michonne interrupted him. "I'm in."

"So am I," Abraham said.

"Me too," Father Gabriel added.

"Hold up, hold up!" Rick insisted. "We can't be sending out over half the Council. If something happens..." He shook his head. "No more than three."

"Then me, Brother Lawrence, and Daryl," Michonne said.

Things had been great here in this house – peaceful and beautiful - with Michonne safely by his side. Rick didn't like the idea of putting her at risk out there. "You're not going," he told her.

"Excuse me?"

Rick knew better than to push back when Michonne got that tone of voice. He backed up a step and nodded slightly. "I guess you _are_ going."

[*]

Carol groaned when she awoken. Her shoulder was throbbing, but the arm hurt worse.

"Take these." Daryl was sitting in a chair pulled close to the side of her bed. In his open palm sat two small pills. She reached with her good arm, slid them out, and popped them in her mouth. He handed her a glass of water, and she swallowed them down.

"Painkillers?" she asked, wondering how long he'd been sitting there, close at hand, watching her sleep.

"Mhmmm. Probably fall back to sleep again."

She handed him the glass.

"No," he ordered. "Drink it all." He nodded to a bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand. "That too. Doctor's orders. And eat those chocolate-covered pomegranates."

"I thought you gave those to Rick to give to Michonne."

"Kept one bag for you."

She smiled. "For me or for yourself?"

"I ain't ate 'em, have I?" He turned and ripped the bag open and slid it to the edge of the nightstand. "There when you want 'em. Ya need sugar." He scooted his chair a little closer to the bed and rested a hand on the blanket atop her hip. The weight of his touch comforted her. "Thought I'd lost ya for a second there."

"Can't get rid of me that easily," she joked.

"Ain't tryin' to get rid of you." His voice cracked a little when he said those words, and Carol felt her heart twist. Maybe she wanted him to say something more intimate than that, but he couldn't have said it in a more intimate way.

"Anyone else injured?" she asked.

"Jesus got his ear grazed. He's fine. Already left for his camp with some guns and ammo. We got eggs, butter, and milk."

"And the calf?"

Daryl shook his head. "They chucked out the calf when they hijacked his truck, so's they could all cram in the back. Probably devoured by walkers now."

"But we have eggs and butter?"

Daryl nodded.

"Too bad I probably won't be baking for a while," she said, nodding to her sling. "Or maybe I will. If I expect Sofie to learn to do it one-handed, I guess I should too."

"No bakin'," Daryl ordered. "No nothin' but restin' for two days at least. Doctor's orders."

"Since when have you listened to doctor's orders?"

"Since I watched you fall off that damn wall."

She reached down and put her left hand on his hand.

"Spencer's dead," he said.

She raked her fingertips through the hair on his arm. "Anyone else?"

"Nah."

"Am I horrible person that my first thought was - at least it wasn't one of our own?"

"Mine, too," Daryl admitted. "But some of these people...I dunno. They's becomin' my own."

"Like Ethan?" she asked.

He nodded.

She raised an eyebrow. "Brother Lawrence?"

"Brother Lawrence is a pain in my ass."

"A pain in the ass you'd probably take a bullet for." She turned her head slightly and looked in his eyes. She wanted him to kiss her again. Carol had been taken aback by his suggestion in the greenhouse. She'd wondered if he was joking at first, but Daryl didn't joke the way she did. She joked. He said, _Stop._ She'd been standing there in the greenhouse, wondering how to respond, when she'd suddenly decided to take the plunge - to take the risk of taking him seriously. Carol was tired of being afraid. She'd overcome so many fears. Why not the fear of actually _wanting_ something?

She watched his lips now as he bent a little closer, but he didn't kiss her. "Listen," he said. "I'm leavin'."

Carol felt like a ball had just dropped into the empty pit of her gut. "What? Why?"

"Couple days. With Brother Lawrence and Michonne. Got to scout out the area. Make sure there ain't no more of these assholes near us. If there are, we'll get a sense of their numbers and weapons and report back."

Carol sighed. "I guess it has to be done. But do you have to be the one to do it?"

Daryl gave her a look that said - _Who else?_

She nodded. "If Michonne falls through any ice, though, make Brother Lawrence get in the sleeping bag with her."

Daryl flushed.

"Kiss me goodbye?" she asked.

He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead. They were surprisingly soft. He kissed her cheek next. The scruff on his chin tickled her skin. Then he pressed his mouth to hers. She parted her lips, eager for his tongue, but he pulled back.

"Got to get goin'. Losin' daylight. And they's waitin' on me. Brother Stephen is gonna come over and check in on you. Nadia too. Sofie said she wants to read to ya." He stood and walked toward the door.

"Daryl?" she called when he was in the doorway.

He turned.

She wanted to say _I love you,_ but what if he couldn't say it back? She didn't want to put him in that awkward position. Who was she kidding? She didn't want to put _herself_ in that awkward position.

"What?" he asked.

"Promise you'll do whatever it takes to come back alive."

"Mhmm."

Carol nodded. He gave her a faint, closed lipped smile and left the room. When his familiar, muscular frame disappeared from the doorway, Carol closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.


	23. Chapter 23

"I should go with you," Rick told Michonne as she threw some clothes into a backpack.

"We'll have three councilmembers out on this scouting expedition. You need to stay here to rule the roost. You're the _Chairman_."

Rick put a hand on his hip. "Maybe I shouldn't have signed up for this job."

Michonne smiled. "You didn't. You were elected." She slung the back pack over her shoulder, seductively laced a finger through his belt loop, and pulled him close. She kissed him teasingly until she began to feel his erection stir against her thigh, and then she stepped back.

"You can't leave me like _this_ ," he insisted.

She gave him one quick stroke through his jeans before turning her back on him. "Think of me while you take care of it."

[*]

Daryl stood in the arsenal and surveyed the available weapons. He was, as usual, relying on his crossbow, but he also wanted a good, backup handgun. He chose a SIG P226 he'd picked up from Cabela's. The first time he'd seen one in a catalog when he was 12, he'd wanted it, but his daddy had laughed at him. "You ain't never gonna be able to afford nothin' like that," he'd said. "You ain't never gonna amount to shit."

Daryl slid the pistol into his hip holster now, with a click that sounded just like _fuck you, pa_ to him.

"We should go on foot," Michonne said as she picked up a rifle. "We don't want to draw attention to ourselves with engines. And we need to be able to split up easily if necessary."

"We aren't going to be able to move quickly enough that way," Brother Lawrence insisted. "We need to start at the spot where Jesus was hijacked, and he said that's eight miles out."

"We can take bikes," Daryl suggested.

Michonne languidly turned her eyes to him. "The point is to be _quiet_."

"Meant dirt bikes. With pedals. Picked up five from Cabela's."

Michonne laughed. "You know what, I'm going to say yes to that just so I can have the chance to see you on a bicycle, Daryl Dixon."

"Ain't got to see me to know I'm gonna look ridiculous. But it makes sense, don't it?"

"It makes a lot of sense," Brother Lawrence agreed. "There's just one problem. I haven't ridden a bicycle since I was 15."

"Me neither," Daryl said. "But they say you never forget."

[*]

Michonne glanced back behind her shoulder as they biked toward the spot where Jesus had said he was hijacked. Daryl's legs pumped ruthlessly as he struggled to keep up with her. The monk lagged behind them both. She looked forward again and picked up the pace. Eventually, Daryl caught up to her and overtook her slightly.

"Look, no hands!" Michonne raised her slender arms straight in the air while she continued to pedal.

"Could do that if I wanted," grumbled Daryl, glancing back. "Just don't."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Michonne dropped her hands to the handlebars and easily overtook him.

Daryl was easy to rile up – like a little brother – and Michonne enjoyed doing it. She felt a sisterly affection for him, and they'd developed an unlikely friendship while tracking the Governor together, but then they'd sort of moved in separate worlds after that. Lately, she'd become glued to Rick's hip, and though she loved the charming ex-cop, this adventure without him reminded her that she was her own person, too, not just Rick's girlfriend, which was how she feared a lot of the Alexandrians were starting to see her.

Daryl pumped as hard as he could, swerved in front of her, and a few second later jerked on his brakes. Michonne skidded to a stop centimeters behind him and bumped his rear wheel slightly. "Jerk," she muttered.

"Look." Feet down on the road, and straddling the bike, Daryl pointed to the pavement ahead.

Michonne dropped her bike in the road, walked to the tire tracks, and squatted for a closer look. Based on the size and freshness of the rubber on the road, they determined this was the spot where Jesus was hijacked. They informed Brother Lawrence when, breathing a little heavily, he caught up to them.

They buried their bikes and entered the woods on foot to look for signs of people. Daryl dropped to his knee to feel the earth. He stood and pointed over a trail of crushed forest debris. "This here's the way the calf escaped when they let it loose."

They walked in a way and found the animal's picked over carcass. All three readied their weapons and whirled about, listening for walkers. It wasn't long before they heard rustling. They waited in a semicircle, eyes in all directions, bows and sword poised, until four walkers broke through the foliage.

Michonne strode forward and swung her katana. The metallic blade glinted in the sun as it slashed through the soft flesh of the walker's neck and sent its head flying. Brother Lawrence dispatched two walkers with his longbow, while Daryl took out one with his crossbow and then shot the decapitated, still munching head Michonne's blow had left behind.

"No sign of living people?" Michonne asked as she slid her sword back into its sheath.

Daryl ripped his arrow out of the walker's lonely head. "They must have hiked up the road from somewhere farther down and waited for Jesus."

They returned to the roadway, got back on their bikes, and pedaled another three miles before they found, clustered together on the shoulder near the woods, a smattering of vehicles that appeared to have been deliberately parked: two sedans, a pick-up, a van, and two motorcycles. The windows of the vehicles had been busted. "Looks like someone's looted them already," Brother Lawrence observed.

"Jesus maybe," Daryl said. "On his way back home."

In the ash tray of the pick-up, they found cigarette butts that Daryl estimated had been smoked sometime in the last two days. The bed of the pick-up was empty, as was the van and one of the sedans. They couldn't pop the trunk of the last car from inside, however, so Daryl pulled out his handgun.

Michonne thought he probably just wanted a chance to use his new toy. "That's going to be loud," she warned him.

"Got a silencer." He drew the silencer out of the deep pocket of his cargo pants and screwed in on before shooting off the lock with a mostly quiet pew-pew. Michonne lifted the lid to find it jam-packed with storage food and water from Cabela's – the food they'd left on the shelves for Andrew.

"These are definitely their cars," Brother Lawrence said.

Daryl went back to the pick-up and examined the hitch. "There was a trailer attached to this. Been taken."

"Looks like Jesus hit the jackpot," Michonne observed, "even without the calf to trade us."

"If they had all of their belongings with them," Brother Lawrence speculated, "they must have been planning to move camp."

"Yeah. Into _our_ town," Daryl said.

Michonne nodded to the woods. The sun was setting behind the trees, and she had to squint against the flickering orange rays. "If they left the cars and all their stuff, they were planning to come back for it. If there are any of them still living, they'll probably have a temporary camp in those woods somewhere."

"Van holds at least ten," Daryl observed. "Sedans five each. Pick-up, who knows, if any rode in the bed...double on the bikes...could be talkin' thirty people."

Brother Lawrence sighed. "And we only killed ten."

Daryl walked around the motorcycles now, craning his neck to examine them. "Want this Harley."

Michonne shook her head. "Later. You certainly aren't roaring around on that thing now."

"The sun has nearly set," Brother Lawrence said. "We should use the night vision equipment and search these woods."

They buried their dirt bikes again, as best they could, and waited for darkness before donning their night vision goggles.

"How do I look?" Michonne asked Daryl.

"Like some chick out of the Matrix." He started walking into the forest.

"You like that movie?" she asked.

"Caught it once. In an extended-stay motel."

"Yeah? Why were you staying there?" Rick hadn't believed Michonne when she told him that Daryl sometimes told her stories of his old life while they tracked the Governor together. Rick insisted that Daryl didn't "talk like that." But Michonne found if you sounded only casually interested – as if you could take silence for an answer – he sometimes did.

"Me and Merle got tired of sleepin' in the truck we used for our lawn service business."

"You two ran a business?"

Daryl shrugged. "Lasted a year 'fore Merle sold the equipment to pay off his meth dealer."

"You know…Spencer had that DVD player." Michonne's teeth reflected the moonlight when she smiled. "You and Carol could use it, if you ever feel like catching a flick. You know...when you're not making out in the greenhouse."

"Shh!" Daryl ordered, and bent to examine the ground.

"So you _did_ finally kiss the girl?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Daryl ignored him and picked up a snapped twig. He cocked his head to study it and then stood and moved on.

"He had his tongue down her throat," Michonne told Brother Lawrence.

"Would y'all shut up back there? Ain't exactly bein' stealth."

Brother Lawrence chuckled. "So I'm not the only one who saw the chemistry?"

"God no," Michonne told him as she trailed behind Daryl. "We've all been placing bets on when they would finally do _something_."

"Who won?" the monk asked.

"Not me. I guessed _never_. Glenn runs the pool. I'll have to check with him."

Daryl stopped walking and held up his hand. Michonne froze and fell silent. He looked around. He pointed to his right and began leading them down a mostly covered trail.

They walked those woods silently for two hours before they finally found a camp, but it wasn't fresh. It appeared to have been abandoned long ago. It had been dug out of a clay hill, with a hole cut through for a sort of chimney, and cans strung about three feet from the entrance, in a semi-circle around the hill. "This ain't theirs," Daryl said. "But it'll do for us. Gotta get some food. Some rest. Ain't gettin' nowhere."

They crawled between the two lines of cans, to a lot of jangling, slid off their night vision goggles, lit a fire, and chowed down on storage food. They heated up water for hot chocolate and, as they drank from tin camp cups, discussed the situation.

"If they's here," Daryl said, "should of seen or heard somethin' by now."

"Maybe we need to search the woods on the other side of the road," Michonne suggested. "Just because they parked the cars on this side, doesn't mean they didn't decide to go in on the other side."

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Let's walk those woods in the mornin'. I'll take first watch."

Michonne slid into her sleeping bag. The monk crawled into his own beside her. Daryl dampened the fire.

"It's going to be cold," Michonne warned.

"Can't risk lettin' it burn all night. Might be spotted. And those bags are rated for 26 degrees. Ain't lower than 35."

"I know, but I'm just a sweet little Georgia girl."

"Give you the Georgia part," Daryl muttered. He wrapped his open sleeping bag around himself and leaned back against the earthen wall, his handgun resting on his thigh. He looked exhausted. "Wake one of ya in an hour."

Michonne scooted down further into her bag and turned on her side. She yawned, and so did Brother Lawrence. But then the monk asked, "Was Daryl really kissing Carol in the greenhouse?"

"Oh yeah," Michonne said. "I feel bad. I interrupted the dance."

Brother Lawrence chuckled. "I guess that's why he wanted to leave immediately on this little expedition."

"To avoid having to face her after he kissed her?" Michonne asked.

"He's just inexperienced with women," the monk said.

"Hey! I'm right here!" Daryl growled. "And I ain't inexperienced! _This_ , comin' from the _monk_?"

"He's got a point," Michonne said.

"I'm not talking about sex, Daryl. Any animal can hump."

Daryl racked his handgun with a loud slap-click-clack. Then he rested it against his thigh again, his finger off the trigger.

"Have _you_ ever had sex with a woman?" Michonne asked the monk. "Ever? In your life?"

"Can't say I have."

"Ever wanted to?" she asked.

"Is that a personal invitation?"

Michonne let out a low chuckle. "I'm not sure Rick would like it if it was," she said.

"Well, I'm sure Rick's a lovely sort of chap, but I doubt he possesses my superior longbow skills."

Michonne laughed again. "Goodnight, brother," she said.

"Goodnight."

[*]

Daryl breathed in the blissful silence. At some point, he dozed off on his watch and awoke a few minutes later to the hooting of a winter owl. He poked the monk awake with the butt of his handgun, and then lay down and zipped up his sleeping bag all around himself.

It was beautiful, that moment of falling asleep. It was like being on the cusp of something blissful, knowing you were about to spill right over into it, any second now, and you wouldn't be able to stop yourself. Maybe, Daryl thought groggily as he slipped into sleep, that's why people called it _falling_ in love.


	24. Chapter 24

In the morning, the trio returned to the roadway and then crossed over into the opposite forest. Daryl led the way, hiking deep into the woods. Michonne and the monk prattled on behind him, annoying him more and more with each exchange.

"I guess Glenn's going to have to draw up a new pool, now that they've kissed," the monk said.

Michonne chuckled. "Yeah. Like - how long between Daryl and Carol's first kiss and the first time they - "

Daryl whirled on her. "- Well it ain't gonna be five minutes like it was with you and Rick!"

"Whoa," Michonne said, holding up her hands.

"What? Ya can dish it out but ya can't take it?"

Michonne slowly lowered her hands to her side.

"We've only been teasing, Daryl," Brother Lawrence said softly. "It's all in good fun."

"We ain't a joke," Daryl spat, "Carol and me. You gotta draw up a pool?" Daryl looked at Michonne but swiped his arm angrily through the air to point at Brother Lawrence. "Take bets on who the monk's gonna screw first - the doctor or Ethan's mom."

Brother Lawrence's normally light skin flushed a bright red, all the way to his ears. He moved his head in an almost imperceptible shake while holding Daryl's eyes.

Michonne turned to the monk with a puzzled look.

"I don't know what he's talking about," Brother Lawrence insisted.

"He knows _exactly_ what I'm talkin' 'bout," Daryl said.

"Karen is merely taking dictation."

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. "Is that _all_ she's takin' from you?"

"Don't be vulgar."

"Ain't so amusin' when the table's are turned, is it, brother?" Daryl stomped off through the woods.

"He took all that a little too seriously," Michonne said.

"I don't think Daryl's in the habit of taking much lightly," the monk replied, "least of all his affection for Carol. Perhaps we should refrain from any further jesting today."

Daryl's footsteps could be heard disappearing through the foliage.

"With Daryl, sure, but...brother..." Michonne grinned.

The monk shook a finger at her in a no-no gesture.

"You have a thing for _both_ Nadia _and_ Karen?" she asked.

"I really don't know why Daryl - "

"- I mean, let me just get this straight," Michonne interrupted, her smile widening. "You're a celibate monk, who's never had sex a day in his life, but you -"

She was cut off by the sound of footfalls fleeing back in their direction, the sudden snapping of twigs, and Daryl yelling, "Run! Run!"

The sound of gnashing dead flesh soon followed. A herd, five times their number, was jerking toward them.

[*]

After a fitful night's sleep, Carol was sitting on the couch and reading, because the doctor wouldn't allow her to do anything else. Rick opened the front door and called, "Knock, knock."

When Carol invited him in, Rick took a seat in the arm chair and set a partially full growler on the table. "Our rations of beer for the last two days. I figure Michonne's not here to drink hers, and I don't need mine. And it might help you sleep."

Carol smiled. "Thank you."

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she admitted.

Rick drummed his fingers on the arm chair. "Think they'll be back today?" he asked.

"I don't know." Rick looked as restless as she _felt_. Carol whispered the words like a prayer - "I hope so."

[*]

The trio fled in the opposite direction of the herd until they could find decent vantage points. Brother Lawrence scaled a large oak tree and began launching arrows. Daryl shot his crossbow through the barren space between two sections of a pine tree. Michonne stood in the open, drew her sword from its sheath with a bone-chilling scrape, and decapitated the few walkers that got past the men's barrage of arrows.

A strange silence followed the slaughter, with only the chirping of cardinals and the measured breathing of the trio as they looked cautiously around and listened for more walkers. At length, Brother Lawrence scurried down his tree. Michonne sheathed her sword. Daryl shouldered his crossbow.

They surveyed the damage. "Time to collect," Daryl said. The monk handed him a handkerchief. He took it, and the pair began yanking their arrows from the heads of the walkers and then wiping them clean before sliding them back into their quivers.

Michonne examined the bodies. "These walkers look newly turned. And this one has a Hells Angels jacket. Think they were part of the camp?"

Daryl walked among the fallen walkers. Almost all of them were female. "Looks like they left all the women behind while they attacked us," Daryl said. "With only four men."

Brother Lawrence was squatting and examining the wrists of one of the walkers. He looked sick to his stomach. "I don't think all of these women were willing members of the camp."

Daryl looked down and saw the cut rope dangling from the woman's wrists. He weaved his way among the bodies and saw that several others had such cut ropes. Two of the female walkers were actually still bound at the wrists. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

The monk stood and walked slowly behind Daryl, his steps heavy on the forest floor. He came to a stop before one of the male bodies. "Beasts," Brother Lawrence cursed. He spat on the corpse. Then he kicked it. "Beasts!" He kicked the dead walker again, harder this time. "Wicked" - _kick_ \- "soulless" - _kick_ \- "godless" - _kick_ \- "reprobate" - _kick_ \- "beasts!"

Daryl stepped cautiously away from Brother Lawrence as the monk drew back his foot and kicked the body over and over, grunting wordlessly each time there was a thud of toe against flesh, kicking and kicking until his boot was wet with blood.

"Stop!" Michonne cried.

He did. Brother Lawrence closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. Then he walked over to the backpack he'd let drop when he scaled the tree.

"Are you all right, brother?" she asked.

"No, I'm not all right." He jerked the pack up from the ground by one strap. "All is not well and all manner of things are not well. It is _not_ well with my soul." He slung the pack over his shoulder and walked on.

"What was that?" Michonne asked Daryl as the monk faded between the trees.

"Think that's probably 'bout Nadia," Daryl said. "And what Negan did to her." He jerked his head in the direction Brother Lawrence had retreated. "C'mon."

They continued their trek through the woods.

[*]

"What are you doing?" Nadia demanded.

The voice surprised Carol, and she nearly spilled the flour from her measuring cup. "Just baking bread for the pantry to distribute." When Rick left, she felt a sudden need to busy herself.

"You should be in bed. You've been shot. You've broken your arm. And you may have suffered a minor concussion. This is not the time for baking."

"I have to do something," Carol said. "You know what that's like, don't you? To _have_ to do something?"

"I do." Nadia walked over to her and examined her splint. "And right now the thing I have to do is fix this splint. You've ruined it already. Come sit down on the couch."

Carol obeyed, and Nadia stood and re-splinted her arm as she sat. "If you really want to get back to doing things," the doctor said, "you must rest."

Carol leaned back against the couch cushion. "Any word from Daryl? Are they back?"

"No, but they expected to be gone for up to two days. You know that."

Carol nodded.

"I'm worried too," Nadia admitted. "But Brother Lawrence survived the War against the Saviors. I suppose he'll survive a minor scouting expedition. So will Daryl."

"And if Brother Lawrence does survive?" Carol asked. "What will you do with him then?"

Nadia acted as though she didn't know what Carol was asking.

Carol nodded to the armchair. "Sit. If you insist I don't bake, at least _entertain_ me." Carol was curious about the doctor, who struck her as an independent, competent, and confident – but rather distant - woman. "Tell me your story."

Nadia looked at the chair. Carol was certain she was going to leave, but instead she sat down and surprised Carol with her candor: "You've probably guessed that Lawrence and I were lovers of a sort."

"The thought occurred to me."

"I've been...healing. Healing from what happened to me when Negan took me. But if Lawrence and I resumed what we were beginning to do, he'd have to renounce his vows completely. I don't want to be responsible for that."

"How long have you two..." Carol let her question trail off. She wasn't sure how to phrase it.

"I've known Lawrence for over a decade. I used to visit my brother Anton in the monastery three times a year. We talked, Lawrence and I, whenever I was there."

"I had no idea you two had that long a history."

"We talked innocently enough. Theology, literature, medicine. But two years before the Outbreak, we began writing one another letters."

"What kind of letters?" Carol asked.

"Innocent letters, at first. They became more than that. But I was married to my career. He was married to God. We never expected anything physical to come of it. I told him he shouldn't even consider the possibility of renouncing his vows for me, that I could promise him nothing, but he kept hinting he was willing. So three months before the Outbreak, I stopped answering his letters."

"Did he stop writing them?" Carol asked.

"No." Nadia tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. "And shortly after the Outbreak, he and Anton came for me in Baltimore. They found me at Johns Hopkins medical center, trying - and failing - to save people. It seemed..." she shook her head. "Insurmountable. The bodies were piling up. There was nowhere to dump them. Ordinary disease was spreading. The doctors were dying off. There's was nothing left for me, but failure and more failure. There were rumors the military was going to firebomb the area. So I l returned to the monastery with them."

Nadia fell silent, and so Carol prompted her: "And you and Brother Lawrence...?"

"There was nothing physical at first. But, after several months of my living there...we began to meet, secretly. It never went too far. I never let it. But we were lovers...of a sort. And then Negan took me." Nadia sat silently for a moment, clutching the wooden arm of the chair. Carol could think of no consoling words and didn't think Nadia wanted words anyway. "Lawrence loved the woman I was," she said. "Or worse yet, perhaps, the woman he _imagined_ me to be. The woman he wrote his letters to. A fantasy woman. The fevered imaginings of a celibate brain. He never loved _me_."

"Do you love him?" Carol asked.

"The way you love Daryl, you mean?"

Carol didn't answer. She couldn't even explain to Daryl how she felt about him. How could she explain it to Nadia?

"Nothing is really straightforward in this world, is it?" the doctor asked.

"Maybe because we're afraid to make it straightforward," Carol said. "Maybe because we only know how to survive."

[*]

They found the campsite. "It's fresh," Daryl said. "They's just holdin' the women here 'til the others took our town."

"Presumptuous of them to imagine they could," Brother Lawrence said. He seemed to have calmed down, and Daryl had no intention of ever making mention of his outburst.

"Probably thought we were soft," Michonne said, "and unarmed except for the watch on the wall."

Daryl walked a slow spiral around the camp, examining what was left behind. "Walkers must of started in on 'em in their sleep," he said. "Most of the women were bound. Couldn't get away. Couldn't fight. Someone started cuttin' the ropes off 'em, but it was too late." He pointed down multiple trails of broken twigs and beaten-down leaves. "Survivors scattered. But they didn't last."

"You really think this was all of them?" Michonne asked.

"Reckon so," Daryl replied. "If any escaped, they ain't gonna last long on their own."

"What now?" Brother Lawrence asked.

Daryl looked around the ravished, desolate camp. "Home," he said, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt like maybe he really did have something to hang that word on.


	25. Chapter 25

Carol had gone to bed and slept for a few hours after talking with Nadia, probably due to the painkillers the doctor had insisted she take. When she awoke, she found Sofie by her bed. The little girl asked if she could get her anything. There wasn't much Carol wanted except company and something to do. So they went down to the kitchen a played checkers. She didn't think Nadia could scold her for the little effort that took.

"You're good at this game," Carol said as she studied the board and saw nowhere she could move without being jumped.

"They had road trip travel games at Cabela's," Sofie said. "Andy and I..." her voice hitched. She steadied it. "Andy and I played a lot of checkers and Parcheesi." She double jumped Carol. "I wish he'd gone with you, that first time. I wish he'd just told you where I was. But he was afraid you might be bad people. Even though you let him live, he was afraid you were lying about Alexandria."

"He was trying to protect you."

Sofie put her good hand over her stub. "We'd never met good people before."

The roar of a motorcycle rattled the window panes of the kitchen, and Carol's eyes widened.

"What's that?" Sofie asked, her voice tinged with alarm.

"I think Daryl's back. Mr. Dixon." Carol heard the motorcycle swerve into the alley between the two houses and glanced out the window to see Daryl cutting the engine off. She stood from her chair and felt suddenly uncertain what to do with herself as he dismounted and began walking toward the back of the house. His boots clattered quickly up the back stairs of the porch. She stepped a little closer to the kitchen door as the screen door creaked, and then the inside door opened.

He was covered in dirt and walker guts when he stepped inside.

"You're filthy," she said.

"Happy to see ya, too."

Carol had an urge to throw herself against him, to wrap her arms around him, but that would be hard to do, with one of those arms splinted and in a sling, and him standing there, not making a move, covered in dirt and blood.

He nodded to the sling. "How 's it?'

"Hurts. Can't do what I want to do. But I'm alive."

"You should've took your boots off on the porch, Mr. Dixon," Sofie said, standing from the table and walking over to peer at him. "Instead of tracking in mud."

"Next time," he promised.

The girl looked him up and down. "What happened to you?"

"Sofie," Carol asked her, "would you go over to the monks' house and check if they have that meal ready they were going to make for us?" Sofie disappeared. "What _did_ happen?" Carol asked him.

"Found their cars. Found their camp. Walkers got 'em. We got the walkers. I got a Harley."

"You need a shower."

He nodded. Where he stood, he stripped off his boots and then carried them the rest of the way through the kitchen.

[*]

Daryl was no stranger to jerking off in the shower, but this was the first time he'd thought exclusively of Carol. For quite some time now, she'd been a part of the indiscriminate, high-speed slideshow in his mind, but as one member of a large ensemble cast of women. This evening, she was the sole star.

When he was done, and he stood with the hot water running in streams down his naked body, he felt a little guilty.

Merle had walked in on him once, when he was 13, in the bedroom they shared whenever Merle happened to be around. He'd made fun of Daryl for a week, and Daryl hadn't touched it for six months after that, which was damn hard to do when you were 13. He'd always felt a little weird about it ever since. But that wasn't why he felt guilty now. This was _Carol._ Carol deserved more than the crude fantasy that had just unraveled in his mind.

As he scrubbed the dirt from his chest with a foaming lather of soap, he wondered if she would want that. Sex. With him. He hoped that she would want it. But he also _worried_ she would want it. He hadn't had sex since a few months before the Outbreak. He'd gotten used to instant gratification. He was bound to disappoint her. Hell, maybe Glenn was running a pool on that too. Odds Daryl Dixon won't last long enough to get Carol Peletier off: 99.9%.

He gritted his teeth, lowered his head, and let the water cascade over him.

[*]

Carol was cleaning up the checkerboard when Nadia came in the kitchen, still wearing her doctor's coat. "Who's in the shower upstairs?"

"Daryl. They're back."

"And Lawrence?"

"I haven't seen him, but I'm sure he's back, too, or Daryl would have mentioned it."

As if on cue, the front door opened and closed. Nadia brushed back her hair with her fingers and Carol couldn't help but smile. The monk plodded into the kitchen, barefoot, his boots in one hand. He'd thought to take them off. He was covered in less dirt than Daryl, but he had his share of walker residue on him. The toe of one of his boots was practically solid black with blood.

"Good to see you up and walking around," he told Carol. "I'm thirsty as the devil."

Nadia poured him a glass of water, and he thanked her when he took it from her hands. He drained it and set it down on the counter, leaving a muddied palm print on the glass. He told them what had happened, with considerably less brevity than Daryl had used. "I better get cleaned up. I need to head over to Karen's after dinner so she can review my latest few pages. I have a problem with commas, apparently."

"Won't it be a bit late for that?" Nadia asked.

"I'll make it up to her by bringing a bottle of wine." He was studying Nadia when he said so, and Carol thought he was trying to judge whether she was jealous.

"Well," Nadia said. "I'm glad you've made it home safely."

"Are you truly?"

"Of course I am."

Upstairs, Carol heard the water turn off, and she excused herself from the kitchen.

[*]

Michonne jumped slightly when Rick slipped into the shower with her and kissed the bare flesh at the back of her shoulder blade. She chuckled, turned and kissed him as the warm water cascaded over their naked bodies.

"I missed you," Rick said.

"I was barely gone two days."

"Felt like a lifetime."

Michonne pushed him away. "Later. No one gets off properly in the shower. Someone always ends up in the cold. And I'm filthy and need a good scrubbing."

"Oh, you're a filthy girl all right." Rick snaked an arm around her again.

She pushed him back again. "I want my shower to myself."

Rick sighed, stepped away from the spray, and slipped out of the shower.

"I'll more than make it up to you when I'm out," Michonne promised as he snapped a towel loose from the rack and wrapped it around his waist.

[*]

Daryl was walking to his bedroom, a white towel wrapped around his waist, when Carol got to the upper landing. A few droplets of water weaved their way in between the scars on his back. He'd reluctantly told her about that, the first time she'd seen him without his shirt, at the prison. His father had flogged him with lashes made from firm, often jagged, twigs. Sometimes, Daryl had been sent out into the woods to pick his own lash. Once, when he was seven, he hadn't come back with it. He'd run away instead. The next day, unable to catch anything to eat, he'd come back home, and he'd gotten a worse than usual beating. After that, he just picked the switch.

Ed had never used anything but his fists. He'd been sweet to Carol at first, during their quick, six-month courtship. It was three months after the wedding when he first hit her, and he was all apologies afterwards, swearing it would never happen again. But it did happen again. A month later. And instead of walking away, as she should have, she blamed herself, the way her own mother had taught her to do. After awhile, it had just become a part of life. She learned Ed's moods. She avoided the pain when she could.

"Daryl."

He turned in the doorway of his bedroom. A single drop of water weaved its way between his pectoral muscles. Carol couldn't take her eyes off of it - off of him. "Are you back for a while?"

"Dunno. Rick's talkin' 'bout askin' the Council to send a party down to Waynesboro. Make sure there ain't still another camp there."

She looked up from his chest to his eyes. "Why Waynesboro?"

"That's where Jesus heard them say they's from."

"Do you think there's still a camp there?"

"Doubt it," he said. "Think they spied us a ways back, brought all their shit and people up. Planned to move in here."

"Then why go?" she asked.

"Better safe than sorry. If there's more, they'll come lookin'."

"If the Council does decide to send a scouting party," she said, "why does it have to be _you_ who goes again?"

"Can track better than any of 'em. Ya know that."

She took a few steps closer, until they were nearly face to face, her sling between her chest and his. Because he didn't lean in to kiss her, she did. She started with a quick peck on the lips, ready to pull away if he didn't respond, but he did. Daryl wrapped one arm around her, yanked her close, and kissed her hungrily. In the process, he thrust her broken arm against his bare chest, and she cried out in pain. He stepped back immediately. "Sorry. 'M an idiot."

"It's okay. I'm fine. We just have to be careful."

He looked down at his bare feet. "I uh...best get dressed. Shouldn't show for dinner in a towel." He drew his eyes back up to hers. "Manners, mhm?"

She smiled, but as he was disappearing through the open entryway, Carol called his name. He turned.

"I'm really glad you're home safe," she said.

"Glad to be home."

She was surprised by his use of that word, _home_. "Does this really feel like a home now?" she asked. "To you?"

Daryl chewed his bottom lip. It slid out from under his teeth, a little raw. He lowered his eyes. "Home's wherever you are." He turned and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.


	26. Chapter 26

Carol was a little jealous of the meal the monks delivered for them that evening. Brother Matthew had made it, and Carol could only conclude, "I think Brother Matthew's cooking is better than mine."

"No it ain't," Daryl insisted, even as he shoveled it greedily into his mouth.

"Are you still going to Karen's tonight?" Nadia asked Brother Lawrence. "To work on your history?"

"Would it bother you if I did?"

"You're a free man, Lawrence."

"Rick's called a Council meeting tonight, anyway," the monk replied. "I won't have time."

At some point during the meal Nadia looked from Daryl to Carol. "I want to emphasize, Carol," she said, "that you must refrain from _any_ strenuous activity for the next two or three days. You could re-open your wound."

"Always the romantic, doctor," Brother Lawrence said.

[*]

Rick watched Carol pull up to his house in the medical golf cart. He could tell she found it vaguely embarrassing. "Maybe we should have had the meeting at her house," Michonne suggested from beside him at the window as Carol walked slowly up the porch stairs, Daryl by her side.

Once everyone was assembled, Michonne gave a report on what they had discovered. The Council decided they needed a scouting party to leave for Waynesboro the next morning, just to make sure there weren't more people there who might be headed their way. Abraham volunteered to go in Daryl's place this time.

"I second the motion," Carol said.

"No. Ya need me," Daryl insisted. "Ain't gonna find a camp without a tracker."

Carol looked at Daryl pleadingly, but he looked away from her to Rick. "Start the vote."

Rick didn't want to get in the middle of what had the appearance of a domestic spat, so he asked instead, "All in favor of sending Michonne back out?" There was a chorus of ayes. Though he wasn't thrilled about Michonne leaving again, he threw in his own aye as well. She clearly felt the need to do missions on her own, away from him. He tried not to let her urge worry him. Maybe if Lori had taken a little more space from him earlier in their marriage, she wouldn't have felt such a need to micromanage him, and maybe they wouldn't have ended up so often at one another's throats. He appreciated and respected Michonne's urge for independence…but part of him also feared it.

Rick caught Daryl's eye but still delayed the inevitable. "All in favor of sending Brother Lawrence back out?" he asked. There was another chorus of ayes. Finally, he asked, "And all in favor of sending Daryl?"

Silence.

"Look, I already been dealin' with these assholes since Cabela's," Daryl said. "Michonne and the monk and me...we already been workin' as a team. And I can track 'em. Just makes sense. Now all in favor? I vote aye." He raised a hand.

Glenn let out a hesitant "Aye."

Father Gabriel followed with his affirmative vote.

Michonne nodded and said, "Aye."

"I vote nay," Abraham said. "I'm willing to go."

"I'm going to say nay, too," Rick announced, glancing briefly at Carol. "You can't be doing every one of these runs, man."

Brother Lawrence said, "Nay for me also. Abraham can take your place, Daryl. You've taught Michonne to track, haven't you?"

"I'm not nearly as good as he is," Michonne admitted. "I'd feel much more comfortable if Daryl was part of the scouting party."

"Three ayes to four nays," Rick said. They all looked to Carol.

"What do we do if there's a tie?" Glenn asked. Having nine members had always prevented that, but they hadn't replaced Spencer on the Council yet.

"There won't be a tie," Carol said, looking directly at Daryl. "If Daryl wants to go, there's no point trying to stop him. I vote aye."

[*]

Carol had lingered to talk with Rick about something involving the pantry, so Daryl headed back to the house alone.

"Are you running away?" Brother Lawrence asked as he caught up to him.

"Didn't even know you's behind me."

"Not from me," Brother Lawrence said, "from Carol."

"Carol's talkin' to Rick."

The monk pulled his black coat tight against the winter night's chill. "I meant tomorrow. This insistence that you come on the scouting trip."

"What're ya yappin' 'bout?"

"Well, it just seems to me," Brother Lawrence said, "that now that you've begun to move your relationship with Carol forward, you should want to stay near her. But instead, you're chomping at the bit to go. Almost as if you're afraid to let yourself - "

"- Shut up. I ain't afraid of shit."

"Well, I'm not afraid of shit, either. Shit is an inanimate object that is hardly likely to - "

" - Shut up."

"If you're not afraid," Brother Lawrence asked, "then, why, as soon as you get a taste of something good, do you suddenly seem to want to be as far away from it as possible?"

"'Cause maybe, when you get a taste of somethin' good, ya want to _protect_ it."

"Maybe," the monk said, "or maybe - "

"- Make a choice yet?" Daryl interrupted him.

"What?"

"'Tween the doctor and the mother?"

"How unlike you to be so interested in my romantic engagements, Daryl. One might almost think you were attempting a deflection."

"Who's deflectin' now, huh?"

"I'm not deflecting anything. It's Nadia. It's _always_ been Nadia. It always _will be_ Nadia." He shook his head and walked on ahead of Daryl.

[*]

Michonne dropped her jeans and slid into bed next to Rick in just her panties and a t-shirt. "Did you vote against Daryl going because you're jealous of him camping out with me?" she asked.

"What?" Rick took off his reading glasses and put them down, with his book, on the night stand. "No. Why would I be?"

Michonne shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't understand why you would vote against sending out our best tracker."

"Because Carol just got shot! And because they…you know. They finally _kissed_."

"I had no idea you were such a romantic." She reached over and clicked off the lamp and scooted down under the covers. Rick did too, and she melded into his arms, like she'd always fit there. "You know he needs to be on this trip, though, don't you?"

"Weren't you the one who said we don't always have to agree on everything?" he asked. "That that's why we need a Council?"

"I guess I was." She snuggled her head against his shoulder and yawned.

Rick was quiet for a while, but before she could drift off to sleep, he blurted, "Nothing ever happened between you two, did it, while you were tracking the Governor?"

Michonne chuckled. "Of course not. Daryl's not at all my type."

"What _is_ your type?"

"Well…that's something I've only recently begun to figure out." She kissed his cheek and closed her eyes, but said no more before she fell asleep.

[*]

Daryl, wearing a pair of dark brown Wranglers and a white muscle t-shirt, was sitting up in his bed and scratching one of his bare, calloused feet with the tail of an arrow when Carol walked in through the half-open door. She leaned back against the wall. "Hey," she said.

He stopped scratching. "Hey."

"I wish you weren't going tomorrow."

He turned the arrow in his hands. "Wish you could come with."

She nodded down at her sling. "I guess it's going to be awhile before I'm any good for anything."

"Felt like that after I got shot. Least you got the girl to tend to."

"I guess I'm getting a taste of my own medicine," she said. "Maybe I was a little hard on Sofie, insisting she be able to do more with one hand."

"You's just tryin' to equip her. For this world."

Carol let her head fall back against the wall. "Is this how this world's always going to be? Two, three weeks of peace, and then another battle?"

"Dunno."

"What are we doing, Daryl?"

He put down the arrow, slid off the bed, and came and stood in front of her. With his fingertips on her hip, he looked her in the eyes, but he couldn't say anything.

"I'm tired of just surviving," she said and rested her head against his shoulder.

Tentatively, and careful not to press her sling against himself, he put his other hand on her lower back. They stood like that for a few silent minutes, until she pulled away. "Want to tuck me in?"

She _said_ it like a joke, but, for once, Daryl chose not to _take_ it like a joke. "Mmmhmm," he murmured.

[*]

Rick slid out of bed quickly when Judith awoke crying.

A wet diaper changed, he made his way back to bed, where he lay on his side and draped an arm around Michonne's waist.

Rick thought of the engagement ring hidden in his dresser drawer. He'd had the courage to slaughter Wolves and defeat the Saviors, but he wasn't sure if he yet had the courage to propose.

[*]

Carol hadn't really been expecting Daryl to follow her to her bedroom, and now that she had him here, she wasn't quite sure what to do with him. She wasn't sure what he _wanted_ her to do.

Ed had not been flattering. He'd told her all the ways she wasn't pretty - her breasts were too small, her hair was too gray, she needed to lose a couple pounds - and all the ways she'd failed in bed - she was too quiet, too frigid, she didn't move the right way, she didn't touch the right things, she didn't know how to please a man. No one, Ed had promised her, would ever want to have sex with her but him. Maybe that was why she had held off Tobin, despite moving in with him, despite his sweetness and kind words. Or maybe she had held him off because, as much as she respected Tobin, she wasn't actually _attracted_ to him. She simply hadn't wanted Tobin the way she wanted Daryl.

"I'm just going to get comfortable for bed," she told Daryl. She didn't know what he thought her invitation to tuck her in meant. Of course, there wasn't much they _could_ do, with the doctor's explicit orders not to engage in _strenuous activity_. But he was standing on the other side of the bed as if awaiting some signal from her.

She wasn't wearing a bra - it was too much trouble to put on with the splint and sling - and her shirt was comfortable enough to sleep in, so she really only needed to shed her knee-length, floral skirt. "Can you unzip me?" She nodded to the zipper, which was on the same side as her sling.

Daryl walked over to her side of the bed, his head a little lowered. His fingers trembled when he gripped the zipper, but he managed to pull it all the way down. When he let go, the skirt slid down her legs and pooled itself on the floor at her feet. He stepped aside, and she stepped out of it. Carol could feel his gaze on the tail of her button-down blouse, which just barely covered her panties. He dragged his eyes away, and then he turned down the comforter and sheets for her.

Carol slid into the bed, all the way over on the far side, and lay on her back, her good arm facing him. "Might as well sleep here yourself," she said. "Instead of walking all the way back to your room." She felt foolish when the words were out. _All the way._ All five feet down the hall.

"That what you want?"

"If you do."

When Daryl crawled into bed next to her, rolled on his back, and lay his head down on the pillow, she chuckled. "You sleep in your pants?"

"Got to be ready," he said.

"Ready for what?" she asked.

"Anythin'."

She scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. After laying like that for a time, she turned her head and body slightly, so they were nearly mouth to mouth. She'd never initiated any physical interaction with Ed. She'd tried to _avoid_ such interactions when she could. So it felt strange, asking what she did next: "Do you want to kiss me?"

"Mhmmm." Daryl bent his neck and pressed his lips against hers. They were chapped and a little rough from his previous night outside, but they felt good. She opened her mouth to invite his tongue inside. It tasted like mint, and not mint toothpaste, but the kind of wild mint she and Sophia used to pick from the backyard of her small house in Georgia to make iced tea - strong and natural. They kissed for a long while. Carol could feel her nipples growing erect against the thin fabric of her shirt, and the tingling spread between her legs.

Daryl, breathing hard, pulled away.

"Too much?" she asked.

"Don't want to hurt you. Doctor said - "

"- I know what the doctor said." She rolled fully on her back again, with her head on his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered open and shut. She couldn't believe how exhausted she felt, given how much she'd already slept. It must have been the painkillers she'd taken an hour ago, when her wound began to ache again. Or maybe it was just the sheer exertion it seemed to require to do anything.

She didn't know when she drifted off to sleep, or how long Daryl lay awake after she had.


	27. Chapter 27

Daryl jolted up in bed. "Whazit?" he muttered.

Carol winced. His movement had jarred her broken arm. "Sounds like it's coming from Nadia's room," she answered. "These wall's are thin, but she's usually quiet in there."

Nadia was talking loudly now, however, and a little angrily. She must be standing right up against the wall between their two rooms, just on the other side of Carol's headboard. The sound of the doctor's voice was filtered through the wall, but it was still audible. Then they heard Brother Lawrence's deep and resonant tone. "They're Georgians. They don't know the area."

"Some of the monks do. Some of the original Alexandrians do," Nadia replied. "It doesn't _have_ to be you."

"I grew up in the Piedmont. I did community missions work all over this state, all up and down it. I know every country road."

"Sometimes I think you have a death wish, Lawrence."

"Really? And here I imagined you thought I was a coward."

Carol rolled on her unsplinted side, so her sling was resting below her chest and she was facing Daryl. He followed her lead, rolled on his side, and rested an arm across her waist, below the sling.

"I never said that!" Nadia yelled.

"No. You just think I should have stopped Negan from beating Anton. That I should have somehow fended off the entire gang despite having no advantage of surprise."

"I was angry," Nadia said, "I'm sorry. I..."

Their voices receded, as though they were walking away from the wall between them.

Carol pressed her forehead against Daryl's. "I feel like an eavesdropper," she whispered.

"We ain't asked for it," he muttered.

The couple must have walked back toward the wall, because their voices were audible again. "I know what you're suggesting," Nadia said. "You think you love me, but you don't. After six months of ordinary living with me, you'd be disillusioned. You'd wish you had never renounced your vows."

"You're wrong," the monk said.

"I won't allow you to renounce them for me," Nadia told him. "I won't be responsible for that."

"What if I wasn't renouncing my vows because of you?"

"What do you mean?"

"The walking dead nowhere factored into my theology. Nor has killing the number of people I've killed."

"Are you saying you've lost your faith?" Nadia asked.

"No. I still believe in God. I still believe in the possibility of redemption. And I still hope for another, better world."

"Then why walk away from your calling?"

"That was my calling in another world. I don't know what my calling _is_ in this world. But I think maybe it's to protect these people, to defend this town. To help it flourish. These people have a priest and seven monks. They don't need another one."

"The other monks help these people," Nadia insisted. "They serve this community. They cook, they clean, they grow, they brew, and they fight when there are enemies at the gate."

"But they don't go _out_ there regularly," Brother Lawrence said. "They do valuable work. I'm not diminishing it. But I'm needed out there. On scouting expeditions. On supply runs. And when I come back, after all the blood and mud and exhaustion and injuries and bleakness of the world outside these gates - I don't want to come back to the brothers. I want to come back to _you_."

"Lawrence, I..." Nadia's voice grew fainter as she walked away from the wall. Soon, their voices receded to only the occasional, indecipherable murmur, and then a door opened and closed and footsteps retreated down the stairs.

"That's a damn thin wall," Daryl muttered.

"Starting in the low $800,000s," Carol said with a smile. Daryl chuckled, and Carol joked, "I guess we'll have to move this bed against the other wall when we finally screw around in it."

He didn't _Pffft_.

He didn't say _Stop._

He said, "A'right. Move it for ya when I get back."

Carol felt an excited shiver tingle through her. The strength of the feeling unnerved her a little.

"Listen," he murmured. He let his hand stray from her hip to the small of her back. It felt strong and warm there. "Me leavin' tomorrow, it ain't …" He chewed on his bottom lip. "I'm the only one can track 'em."

"I know."

"And I want to make sure they ain't comin' for us. That _you're_ safe. 'Cause I almost lost ya."

Carol sighed. "You think you're more good to me out there than you are _here_."

"Mhmhm."

"I'm not so sure about that. But it's not all about me. It's about Alexandria. And Alexandria needs you to find their camp and assess the risk." She kissed his forehead and rolled on her back. So did he. She reached over with her good hand, and he spread his fingers apart so she could lace hers through his.

 **[*]**

"Watch this," Carl boasted and then flipped the pancake in the air and caught it on the griddle. He'd made these with apple sauce because the eggs hadn't lasted long.

"Impressive," Michonne told him. "Have you shown that trick to Enid?"

Carl shrugged.

"You should invite her for dinner sometime," Rick told him as he set the table. "Meet the parents, you know." He glanced at Michonne to gauge her reaction at being called a _parent_. She didn't react at all. Sometimes he wondered how serious she was about this thing – whatever this thing was – they had together, and other times he wondered if she didn't, perhaps, consider them _already_ married. She treated Judith and Carl both as part of her family – maybe not quite as her own children, but as _family_. But Michonne wasn't traditional the way he was. She wasn't like any woman he'd ever known.

"It's not that serious, Dad." Carl put the griddle back on the stove. "And she's _met_ you. It's kind of a small town."

"Invite her for dinner anyway," Rick insisted.

[*]

When Carol awoke, she immediately felt Daryl's absence. She patted the bed beside her and found it empty. She propped herself up on the one elbow and looked around. Disappointment, resignation, and a hint of anger danced in her stomach. How could he leave without saying goodbye?

"Mornin'."

She turned to see Daryl pushing open the door with his boot. He was carrying coffee in one hand and orange juice in the other, and he set both down on the nightstand. "Didn't know if ya'd want the coffee. But ya gotta have the juice. Doctor's orders."

Carol leaned back against the headboard. He sat down in the chair beside her bed, pulled it close, and leaned forward slightly. "I gotta get goin'. They's waitin' on me."

She nodded and tried to ignore the fear that was working its way up from her gut. Because she was concentrating on that, his kiss surprised her, and she didn't respond right away. Looking disappointed, he pulled away.

Carol thought of that unguarded confession he had made when they'd played _I Never_ in that snowy cabin - about how no one, not even a family member - had ever said those three little words to him. She decided she didn't care if he was able to say them back. He deserved to hear it, once in his life. "Daryl." She rested her hand against his cheek to force him to look her in the eyes. "I love you."

His eyes flitted instantly down. He breathed in and out, like a man who has just received some bit of shocking news and is trying to steady himself. And then his lips crushed down desperately on hers.

This time Carol responded. She wasn't sure how long they kissed, but she was breathing hard when he pulled away.

"I gotta go," he said.

"I know."

"You'll be here when I come back?"

She put a hand lightly against the fabric of the sling. "Where do you think I'm going?"

He smiled, closed-lipped, and stood. When he was in the doorway, he said, "I'm comin' back. Know that, right?"

She nodded and watched his figure fade from the doorway.

[*]

Daryl, Michonne, and Brother Lawrence were nearing the gates of Alexandria when the patter of small feet arose behind them. Daryl stopped walking and turned to see Ethan, with a backpack and crossbow, running their way.

"Daryl!" the boy called, and came to a stop before him, panting a little.

Michonne's face contorted in a puzzled expression. Brother Lawrence slowed to a stop a few paces ahead of them and walked back to the group.

"I want to come with you guys," Ethan said.

"You guys," Michonne repeated. "I'll never get used to that."

"Half of Virginians says y'all," Brother Lawrence told her.

"But not your half?" she asked.

"I don't have _a_ half," the monk replied. "I've been all over this state. I say _both_."

"I've never heard you say y'all," Michonne told him.

"I got my bow," Ethan said excitedly, "and my pack. I've got a knife, and the canteen, and some - "

"- Ethan, kid," Daryl interrupted. "This here's a job for grown-ups."

"A boy's got to learn sometime," Ethan said.

Michonne let out an amused chuckle.

Even Daryl smiled a little. "Your mama ain't gonna want you comin' with us."

"You ain't got to tell her."

Now Michonne snorted.

"Listen," Daryl said, "First off, don't say ain't. Your mama ain't gonna like that. Second off, I can't take ya without your mamma's permission. And she ain't gonna give it."

"Please?" the boy asked.

"Nah. Sorry. Can't." Daryl put his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked down at him. "But I'm proud of ya for bein' willin'. You got balls, kid."

"Yeah, I got two."

Now everyone laughed.

"What's so funny?" Ethan asked, looking angry, embarrassed, and flustered.

Daryl squatted down on his haunches so they were eye to eye. "I got an important job for you."

"Yeah?" Ethan asked, looking suddenly less embarrassed and more excited. "What is it?"

"I been hearin' a coon out my window. Now if'n that coon gets in the town pantry, it's gonna do some serious damage. I need you to stay here." Daryl pointed at the ground. "Hunt that coon down for me. Might take awhile to get 'em. I ain't been able. I ain't as fast as you, and I can't get under the porches. But I bet you could get 'em."

Ethan nodded his head.

Daryl stood. "Ya gonna take care of that while I's gone?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Good boy." Daryl slapped him gently on the cheek.

Michonne was trying not to laugh when they all turned to the gate. When they were on the other side, and they were loading their gear into the compact pick-up they planned to take, she said, "You'd make a good daddy, Daryl Dixon. Ever thought about having a baby?"

"I ain't got a womb."

"I meant with Carol."

Daryl's eyes grew as a wide as a deer's caught in the headlights. "Carol's too old for that now."

"Not necessarily," Michonne said with a teasing smile. "It's been known to happen. What is she, 46? 47?"

"Dunno," he muttered. Daryl hastened to the driver's side of the pick-up, in the wake of the sound of Michonne and Brother Lawrence's combined chuckles.


	28. Chapter 28

"Here's an interesting factoid," Brother Lawrence said from the backseat as Daryl navigated the truck onto the shoulder and drove around a small clump of abandoned cars. The monk shared a knowing look with Michonne, who was riding shotgun. "The oldest woman to ever give birth was almost 67 years of age, and she gave birth to _twin_ s. Although, if I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure there was some in-vitro fertilization involved."

Daryl tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "How far's this damn Wayensboro?"

"Well, at highway speeds, in the old world, you'd be talking three hours or so. But add into that a herd or two of walkers, a half a dozen road blockages, circumlocution via alternate routes, a little scavenging along the way...a day and a half, perhaps?"

"Yeah," Daryl muttered. "Figured." A few minutes later, he threw the truck into four-wheel drive and went up a hill slightly to get around some more cars. He had to gun it to keep the truck from slipping back down, and it left muddy tracks on the hillside. He got about a mile that way before finally rolling back down. Fortunately, he was past the blockage and was able to return to the now open roadway.

"Who wants to play twenty questions?" the monk asked.

Daryl shot him a perturbed glance.

"I'll play," Michonne said. "I'm thinking of an artist."

Brother Lawrence leaned forward between their seats. "I guess we can dispense with the _living or dead_ opening question."

Michonne snorted.

"20th century?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Harlem Renaissance painter?"

"Are you just asking that because I'm black?"

"So that's a no?"

"No. It's not a no. It's a yes," she muttered.

"Aaron Douglas," the monk said.

"How'd you guess that so fast? Screw you!"

"Another personal invitation? Michonne, if only Rick knew how often you propositioned me."

She shook her head. "Okay. Your turn, brother."

"I'm thinking of a famous theologian."

"Come on!" Michonne cried.

"It's not that difficult, I promise. I'm sure you've heard of him. Maybe even Daryl has heard of him."

"Ain't heard of no theo-nothin'," Daryl said. "Less'n you count the apostle Paul."

"That's the one!" Brother Lawrence exclaimed. "You guessed it. Your turn, Daryl. You think of something."

"I got an idea," he replied. "Let's play _the quiet game_."

[*]

Nadia peeled the bandage off of Carol's shoulder and examined the site of the wound. She was sitting in the chair beside Carol's bed. "It's healing nicely," she said. "How's the pain?"

"It comes and goes," Carol told her. "I'm trying not to waste painkillers."

"This is what we have them for. You were shot. You fell a long way. You're tough, but you aren't Wonder Woman."

"How long is this arm going to take to heal?"

"I'll take that cumbersome splint off before long, so we can begin some mild rehabilitation, but I'll keep you in a sling. It will take you some time to heal fully."

"So when can I start shooting again?" If there were people in this Wayensboro camp, and war came their way, she needed to be ready.

"Four months, perhaps."

"Be serious," Carol told her.

"You don't want to risk re-injuring your arm."

"Daryl went back to shooting his crossbow again within a couple weeks of being shot."

"He didn't break his arm. And he didn't help anybody, either, in the War. He wasn't ready. He _should_ have sat it out. I _told_ him to."

"Then I'll have to use my left hand to - "

"- There are plenty of warriors in this town. Relax, Carol. You can just be a baker for awhile."

"So I _can_ bake now?"

"Yes, a little," Nadia told her. "But you were trying to do it within mere hours of your injury!"

"Anything else I can do?" Carol asked, feeling annoyed and useless.

"You can resume sexual relations when Daryl returns," Nadia told her. "Just be very careful of positioning, and don't be too vigorous."

Carol flushed.

The doctor didn't seem to notice. She continued in that same dry, professional tone, "I certainly wouldn't recommend the missionary position. Entry from behind, while you're on your non-splinted side, is probably safest. It will allow you to brace yourself reasonably while keeping weight off the splint and off your wound."

Carol was sure her face was beet-like by now. How far did Nadia imagine she and Daryl had gone? And how long did she imagine they'd been going there?

Nadia stood and slid off the plastic gloves she'd used when examining Carol's shoulder wound. She slipped them in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. It was an Oxford sweatshirt.

"Did you go there?" Carol asked, for fear Nadia might resume her recommendations for sexual positioning if she didn't change the topic.

"No. I went to Heidelberg University for my undergraduate degree and to Johns Hopkins for medical school. I just picked this up on the road."

"I never went to college. Always wanted to," Carol admitted, "but girls in my family just didn't do that."

"It was imperative to my father that all of his daughters earn graduate degrees, and that we do so before we got married. He grew up in a very traditional culture, but he didn't want that for us."

"Where are you from, originally, if you don't mind me asking?"

"All over. I lived in seven different countries before I came to America. I became an American citizen when..." She stopped. She shook her head. "I guess citizenship doesn't matter anymore."

"You're an Alexandrian now."

"Our own little country," the doctor said. "Do you think we can preserve it?"

"I don't know. But I think we're going to try."

[*]

Daryl pulled to a stop. There was a graveyard of cars before them and no visible way around. "What now, Magellan?" he asked.

"Magellan," the monk chuckled. "That would have been a good one for twenty questions. You're not as dumb as you act, you know."

"Magellan's grade school shit," Daryl said. "And I ain't been actin' dumb. Wouldn't've survived this long."

"Fair enough. I know a country road, two or three miles back, that will get us on the highway farther south west. It will add thirty miles to our route, but I don't see that we have much choice."

Daryl threw the truck into reverse.

"Wait," Michonne said. "Let's check out the cars first. See if we can fill up the empty gas tanks we brought."

They spent about forty minutes siphoning off gas and filling cans to the sound of pounding from within the cars. About half the cars were empty, but about half had walkers locked inside, and they thrashed against the windows at the living, too weak in their small numbers to break the glass.

"Twelve gallons," Michonne announced as she slid the third, partly full red plastic can into the bed of the pick-up. "Not bad at all."

"Shall we check the trunks?" the monk asked. "Just of the cars that don't have walkers in them? So we can pop the trunks open from inside?"

"Those are the ones most likely to be empty," Michonne said. "Probably already looted. We need to check the trunks of cars that _do_ have walkers in them." She pulled her sword from its sheath. "Besides, I could use some more practice. I've been inside the gates for too long. I'm getting rusty."

"Ya killed four the other day," Daryl said.

"Just open the doors for me, Romeo."

[*]

"You don't want to move there," Sofie warned Carol.

Carol looked at the board. The girl was right. She'd be able to double jump her. Carol chose a different spot, where Sofie could only jump her once. They were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping mint tea, and playing checkers.

"No offense, but you're not really good at this game," the girl said.

Carol chuckled. "Or maybe you're just really good at it."

"Brother Lawrence beat me at it," she said. "But he was in the chess club in college. He said he's going to teach me to - "

She fell silent, interrupted by a sudden sound of screaming and clattering that seemed to be coming from below the house. Carol hastened outside and down the porch stairs, with Sofie fast behind. They headed toward the noise, and found a small opening in the lattice under the porch.

Ethan lay on the ground beneath, on his back, screaming and trying to kick a walker off his ankle. The dead thing appeared to have clawed its way out of the ground, where it must have been shallowly buried face down. From the waist on, its body still lay beneath the earth, but its torso was above ground facing Ethan, and it had a tight grip on the boy.

Ethan's youth crossbow lay a few feet to the upper right of him, as though he'd dropped it when he was grabbed and dragged downward. He was straining to reach it as he kicked. To the left of the walker's face lay a partially devoured raccoon.

[*]

"Eureka!" Michonne exclaimed as she unzipped a large duffle bag. "What was this guy, a formula rep?"

The monk picked up a can of Similac and examined it before returning it to the duffel bag.

"What we need that for?" Daryl asked. Judith was drinking regular powdered milk these days. The monks had brought a caseload of it from the monastery cellar.

"Uh...Maggie? Because she's about to drop a baby in a couple months?"

"Ain't she just gonna feed it from her..." Daryl trailed off.

"Milk jugs?" Michonne asked.

"Shut up," Daryl muttered.

"Not every woman breast feeds successfully," Michonne said. "I had to consult two lactation specialists."

Brother Lawrence blinked. "You had a child?"

"Nevermind." Michonne zipped up the bag roughly. "I'll put this in the pick-up."

"Did you know about that?" the monk asked Daryl as she walked down the road toward their vehicle.

"Mhmhm." Michonne had mentioned it, _once_ , when they were out searching for the governor. "She don't like to talk 'bout it. So don't." He reached into the trunk and pulled out a box of diapers. "Get that other one."

As they walked back to the truck, Brother Lawrence asked, "Did _you_ have a kid in the old world, too?"

"Not that I know of."

Daryl tossed the box of diapers into the back of the pick-up when they got there and looked at Michonne, whose lips were pursed tightly together. There was anger in her eyes. "Wanna cut off a few more walker heads?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I think I do."


	29. Chapter 29

Ethan screamed and strained to reach his crossbow, his fingertips centimeters from it. He continued to try to jerk free of the gnashing walker, who had managed to bite the thick heel of his boot, but not him. Giving up on the crossbow, Ethan struggled to unfasten the small hunting knife in a sheath on his belt, but it seemed stuck. With her one good hand, Carol drew out the knife she always kept on her belt and then looked at the small hole in the lattice of the porch.

"You're too big!" Sofie cried. "Give it here." She reached for the knife. Carol shook her head. The girl wasn't ready. She'd been sheltered and hidden by her brother too long. She'd never killed a walker. But there was also no way Carol was squeezing in through that hole in the lattice. "Give it here!" Sofie screamed. "You're too big!"

Carol handed her the knife, and the girl scurried under the porch face first, crawling on her hand, knees, and stub. Sofie stabbed the walker in the hand where it was holding Ethan, crying as she thrust the knife into its dead flesh.

"It's head, Sofie!" Carol shouted. "You know it has to be the head!"

Startled, the walker growled and let go of Ethan's ankle, thrashed its jowls, and turned to Sofie. Free of the walker's grip, Ethan was finally able to concentrate enough to work his hunting knife out, but in the process he flung it onto the ground by accident. The walker seized him again, with Carol's knife still shallowly lodged in its hand.

Through some small grace, Ethan's knife had fallen near Sofie's good hand. She grabbed it and thrust it into the walker's head, before it was able to chomp down on her stub. The one weak stab from the hunting knife was not sufficient, and the dead thing continued to thrash, but at least it let go of Ethan again. The boy scurried for his crossbow, crying, "Get back, Sofie! Get back!" The girl crawled backward on her elbows and knees, and when she was clear, Ethan shot the creature in the head.

On the other side of the lattice, Carol released a heavy sigh of relief. Sofie crawled out from under the porch and into Carol's one-armed embrace, where the girl let herself break down into a flood of tears. Ethan followed. Sofie, gasping for breath between her sobs, turned to him and cried, "What were you doing under there?"

His little chest rising and falling with his hard breaths, he said, "Lookin' for a coon. I saw it run down in there." He nodded back under the porch where the half devoured carcass lay. "Found it."

[*]

In the passenger seat of the pick-up, Michonne flipped a page of the teeny bopper magazine she'd picked up from one of the cars. She clicked open a ballpoint pen. Daryl steadied the truck after it dipped into a large pothole in the dirt road. In the backseat, Brother Lawrence stirred from his unplanned nap and sat up.

"Quiz time," Michonne said. " _Discover Your Relationship Style_."

Daryl glanced at the magazine on her lap, shook his head, and looked back at the road.

"How many people have you kissed in your lifetime?" She turned her eyes, with a smile, to Daryl. "A. One or two. B. Three of four. C. Five or six. D. Seven or eight. E. I'm starting to lose count." She put the pen against the magazine. "What can I put you down for, Daryl?"

"Ya wanna drive?" he asked her.

"I'm an A," the monk said. "Unless you're counting the kiss of peace. In that case, E."

Michonne circled A. "Question 2: How many of those people were you in a relationship with at the time?"

"Define relationship," the monk said.

"Dating."

"Define dating."

"We'll skip that one," Michonne ran her pen down to the next question. "Have you ever kissed more than one person in the same night?" She turned her eyes, and her smile, on the driver. "Daryl? Hmmmm?"

Daryl gritted his teeth and adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Not I," said the monk. "Again, if we aren't counting the kiss of peace."

"You're not really the appropriate subject for this quiz," Michonne told him. "Although, you've had about as much experience as your average tween girl, so...maybe you are." She flipped the magazine shut. "I'm bored. I'm taking a nap. No one wake me unless I have to kill something." Her seat flung back with a creek, right in the monk's lap.

Brother Lawrence looked down at her and smirked. "I promise I won't tell Rick."

[*]

After examining the walker under the porch, Rick called an emergency Council meeting at Carol's house. "That walker looked like it was stabbed before it turned," he told the members of the council who were not on the scouting mission. "Three times, in the chest. The man probably bled to death and then was buried under the porch to hide the body. He didn't have any I.D. on him."

"Like some kind of murder or something?" Glenn asked.

"Yes, Glenn," Rick said slowly. "Like some kind of murder or something." He looked around at the Council as he spoke. "The man had to have been killed after the Outbreak, if he turned. But maybe he was buried right away and his killer didn't know you didn't have to be bit to turn. And it's been under there this whole time, just...slowly digging its way out."

Father Gabriel tugged at his collar. "Who was living in that house when we arrived?"

"Tobin," Carol answered. "But I'm _sure_ he wasn't a murderer."

"Wouldn't somebody have noticed," Abraham asked, "a man just disappearing?"

"Maybe not," Rick replied, "with all the commotion Deanna told us about when they had to banish that one group. It could be that everyone just thought this man left with them. And maybe the killer buried the body down there because he could get under that particular porch."

"Maybe the killer is still among us," Abraham suggested.

Rick nodded. "I think I'm going to have to do some old-fashioned police work."

"Everyone buried in that cemetery," Glenn said nervously, "was shot in the head first, right?"

"Certainly since we've been here," Rick answered. "But we should check with one of the original Alexandrians. We need one on the Council, now that Spencer's dead. We should hold an emergency town meeting tonight, get nominations, have an election. I motion we do that."

"I second the motion," Abraham said.

"Shouldn't we wait until Daryl, Michonne, and Brother Lawrence are back?" Glenn asked. "So they have a vote?"

"I think this is a matter of some urgency," Rick replied, "and their votes alone wouldn't sway an election. Besides, it's only a temporary position, until the next formal election. All in favor?"

A chorus of ayes followed Rick's question,

"Should we warn people?" Glenn asked. "That there might be walkers under porches?"

"That will cause a panic," Carol told him.

"Yeah, I guess so," Glenn agreed. "And how likely is it that anything like this will happen again? I mean, how many murdered people can there be buried under porches?"

"Well, thank God the boy is all right," Rick said. "Though I don't guess his mother is going to let him go hunting with Daryl for awhile."

"We didn't actually tell his mother," Carol admitted. "Ethan asked me not to." The boy was afraid of that very thing - that his mother would put a tighter leash on him if she knew he'd gone hunting raccoons at Daryl's suggestion, only to nearly get killed.

Rick shook his head. "Carol..."

"What?" she asked.

"I'm going to _have_ to tell her."

She shook her head but didn't contradict him.

Rick nodded to her sling. "Are you getting enough rest?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "But I should be getting back to Sofie. She's in her room, and she's a little rattled."

"I imagine," Abraham said.

"Stay as long as you want," Carol told them as she rose and headed off to Sofie's room.

[*]

"Oh shiiiiit..." Daryl slowed the pick-up to a stop. They'd made their way back to the highway and had enjoyed about fifteen miles of smooth sailing. "You know another side road?"

Michonne stirred from her nap and righted her seat.

Brother Lawrence looked at the sea of cars turned every which way on the highway and shoulders before them. "Can't we just drive around them through that cornfield?" The stalks were black and brown and bent against the ground.

"Those cars go on as far as the eye can see," Michonne said.

"Don't think we wanna call attention to that herd neither." Daryl looked at the dozens of walkers that were wandering listlessly through the wreckage.

"They won't be able to keep up with the pick-up," the monk argued. "They're mostly on the road. We might have to run over a few in the cornfield, but they aren't catching us."

"So yer sayin' ya don't know another country road?" Daryl asked.

"I know several off-highway routes that will get us to Waynesboro," the monk insisted, "but they're _beyond_ that wreckage."

"A'right then. Could of just said that to start."

"Can I drive?" Michonne asked. "You've been at the wheel this whole time. And I want to do some serious off-roading."

"Suit yourself." Daryl put the truck in park. They crossed over one another, and Daryl settled into the passenger's seat.

When Michonne gunned the engine, Daryl reached up and gripped the handle that hung from the ceiling of the pick-up. Michonne had her fun tearing through the dead corn field, sarcastically shouting, "Yee haw!" and plowing down one walker she couldn't steer around. They made it through the field and back on the highway, and eventually they ended up about thirty miles north of Waynesboro after two more road blockages and workarounds. By then, the sun was setting in soothing pastels against the Blue Ridge Mountains.

"Almost makes you believe in God." Michonne glanced back at the monk. "I mean, if you didn't already."

"Right pretty," Daryl agreed. He wasn't often struck by beauty, and even more rarely did he admit it when he was, but he had trouble taking his eyes off the sunset.

"Better make camp," Michonne suggested. "Press on in the morning."

Brother Lawrence tapped the back of her seat and then pointed forward. "The sign's gone, but there used to be a winery a few miles up that dirt road there."

"Boozer," Daryl muttered.

"I just mean that we might be able to make camp in the tasting room." He sat back against his seat. "And if there happens to be any wine left...who are we to refuse to enjoy the fruit of God's glorious earth?"

They made their way up a gravely road and parked before a large, cabin-like, two-story wooden structure that was built on a landing partyway up a hill. They slid out of the pick-up and walked closer, weapons readied. The two flight of stairs leading to the deck of the building had been chopped off midway, so that there was no way to reach the balcony, and there was a semi-circle of slanted pikes erected at the base of the hill. Four walkers had been caught on those pikes, and a few more lay outside the semi-circle, neat holes in their heads.

"Someone's livin' here," Daryl said, and all three looked warily up at the structure above.


	30. Chapter 30

Rick began his investigation by recruiting an Alexandrian to identify the body. He found James Miller returning from a fishing trip outside the gates and asked him to the infirmary, where the walker's slain carcass has been stretched out on a metal exam table for Nadia to analyze.

James ran a hand through his thick, brown hair and swallowed when he saw the body. He crinkled his nose. "Smells worse than dead fish."

"Do you recognize him?" Rick asked. "I know he's…changed. There was no ID in the pocket."

"It's Roger Douglas."

"Douglas?" Rick asked in surprise. "Was he related to Tobin?"

James nodded. "They were brothers. But Roger left long ago with that group Deanna banished. Or, at least…we _thought_ he did. Tobin _said_ he did, that he was tired of being locked-up behind these gates, and that he didn't trust Deanna's leadership."

"Tobin told you that?"

"Not me, personally. He told my bother Tom. You should talk to Tom. He knew Roger better than I did."

Rick followed James Miller to the house he shared with his brother Tom and his sister Mary, the psychologist who was helping Nadia. There Mary offered him coffee, and Tom Miller sat across the table from Rick and answered his questions. It felt strangely satisfying to be doing detective work again.

When he was done with all of his questions about Tobin's brother, Rick said, "Glenn's a little concerned about the people buried in the cemetery, whether they were all shot in the head before they were buried."

"No one died before we knew everyone turned," Tom told him. "They were all shot. And most of those bodies - well most of them were buried after your people got here, you know. Things were pretty peaceful before your arrival."

Rick tried not to take the comment as an insult. "Things are pretty peaceful now. And we've survived numerous enemies." Enemies these original Alexandrians never would have survived without them, he thinks.

"We're grateful for what you've accomplished here. Who knows how long the peace would have lasted. And I for one don't blame you for bringing the Saviors down upon us." Tom leans forward over the table. His blue eyes sparkle a little beneath his wavy, light brown bangs, and Rick can see why so many women seem to find him attractive. "I hear the Council is planning to hold elections to fill Spencer's spot? Preferably with an Alexandrian?"

[*]

"Don't shoot, Daddy!"

Daryl leveled his crossbow in the direction of a young woman's voice, but he couldn't see through the rail of the deck.

"They're people," came the woman's plaintiff voice again, "not flesh-eaters! And they've got a woman with them."

"Y'all people?" a man shouted.

"See, I told you lots of Virginians say y'all," Brother Lawrence told Michonne. "Yes, we're people," Brother Lawrence yelled back. "We come in peace. We're just looking for a safe place to spend the night, and then we're moving on."

"Shoulder your weapons," yelled the man.

They did. They saw a black Stetson hat rise up over the balcony of the building, then a gray beard, and, finally, the torso of a man. He was leveling a rifle at them. "My girl's gonna throw down the ladder. You can probably yank out one of those pikes and squeeze through, but put it back when you're done."

A rope ladder came tumbling down the hill from the deck. Daryl gripped one of the pikes and heaved. It barely budged. The monk assisted him, and together they were able to dislodge it. Once they were through the opening, they repositioned it. Daryl looked warily up the ladder. "I'll go up last. Stay ready to cover y'all, in case they ain't as friendly as they seem." His bow was loaded and ready to go, as was his handgun. He could get to either quickly.

Brother Lawrence volunteered to go first. He made his way up the ladder as Daryl and Michonne watched. They saw him wave from the ledge above. Michonne went up next and finally Daryl.

The man rolled up the ladder, and, with his daughter, led them into the tasting room. Daryl looked around cautiously, but he didn't see signs of any other people. It was a large tasting room, with several tables, displays, and bay windows overlooking the mountains. The rays of the setting sun were flickering through the glass and painting patterns on the bar.

The trio dropped their packs on the wooden floor of the establishment. The man looked to be in his late 50s or early 60s. His daughter was in her early 20s, with lush, brownish-red hair and an attractive figure that Daryl made a point not to observe for more than half a second.

"Peter Hampton," the man said. "And this is my daughter, Cassie. As a show of good will, would you deposit your weapons here?" He patted the tasting bar. They obliged. They all had concealed knives and handguns anyway. The trio introduced themselves by name, though Brother Lawrence just called himself Lawrence when he did so.

The girl, with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, smiled. "Y'all are the first people we've seen in...well, since we came back here."

"And when was that?" Brother Lawrence asked.

"We stayed here for the first sixty days after the epidemic started," Peter replied, "but when it was clear no one was coming with a cure, we tried to make it to D.C. On the way, my wife and son died. The case looked hopeless, so we just decided to come back. Hacked off the stairs and set up the pikes to keep the flesh-eaters away."

"It's just been you two?" Michonne asked. "This entire time? How have you survived?"

"We've got at least some power," Cassie said, "from the solar panels on the roof, but it's erratic, so we try to conserve. We use it mostly for the refrigerated storage in that room there." She motioned to a closed door. "Daddy's always believed in stocking up. We used to have so many parties and weddings here, so we had plenty when it started."

"And I go looting sometimes," her father said. "There's an outhouse on the plateau outside, if you need it later. We installed it for an extra bathroom when we had summer concerts. Y'all hungry?"

"Famished," Brother Lawrence replied.

[*]

The backdoor to the kitchen rattled. Carol let Rick in. He came and stood at the center of the kitchen and looked around. "How well did you know Tobin?" he asked.

"I suppose as well as you can get to know someone in a few weeks. Why?"

"He was your...boyfriend, right?"

"I...suppose," Carol admitted. They hadn't been as intimate as everyone seemed to think, but they had shared a house. And a few kisses. All the time she'd been trying to be someone she wasn't, someone she'd wanted to be before Ed, but somebody she couldn't ever quite be now. Someone she didn't want to be anymore.

Rick's eyes fell on the wooden knife block on the counter. He walked up to it and ran a finger over one of the empty slots. "Do you have the knife that goes here?"

"No. It was missing when we moved in here. Tobin said it was never in the set as far as he knows. Why? What's going on, Rick?"

"I'm forming a theory. Was Tobin ever violent with you?"

"No!" Carol cried. "Do you think I would _let_ him be?" After all she'd been through with Ed? After how much she'd grown, how much shed' changed?

"No," Rick said softly. "No, I don't. Would you say he was a mild man?"

"Yes. Definitely. I mean, but not weak. Maybe a little naive at first, but, in the end, he fought in the war. He went out fighting."

Rick nodded. "Sorry to bother you so late. I know you need your rest. Council meeting tomorrow to discuss this whole walker under the porch thing."

"Okay," Carol replied warily. "I'll be there." She opened the door for him and watched him disappear down the back porch stairs and worried about which way the wheels were turning in that cop's mind of his.

[*]

In the wine tasting room, the trio sat on slick, wooden benches before a distressed oak table while their hosts fed them cured sausages, olives, hard cheeses, crackers, and wine. Peter lit an oil lamp, which provided an intimate glow after the sun had set.

"You ain't seen any camps around?" Daryl asked. "People?"

Peter shook his head. "Just flesh-eaters. I never drive out more than six miles, though. I've mostly looted other wineries and the shops in the historic downtown. Not many people lived here to begin with."

"You ain't bein' smart," Daryl said. "Takin' us in, tellin' us all the shit you have."

Peter reached for his gun, which he'd propped by his chair. He wrapped a hand around it. "Is that a threat?"

"Merely an observation," Brother Lawrence hastened. "What Daryl means to say is that the world is much changed. You can't trust people as easily as you used to. But we are grateful there are still hospitable people in it."

Peter's hand relaxed from the gun and he returned it to his wine glass. They ate and drank and talked awhile longer. Cassie kept throwing glances at Daryl, and he figured she didn't much trust him. Their hosts showed them upstairs to the bedrooms.

"This is my room," Cassie said. "you can share it with me tonight, Michonne."

"And Daryl and Lawrence," Peter said, "y'all can have my son's old room."

When they retried, Brother Lawrence claimed the bed, while Daryl rolled out his sleeping bag from his pack and lay down on top of it. It wasn't particularly cold tonight, and he didn't feel like climbing in. He wasn't comfortable among strangers. He didn't want to be confined inside of something. He wanted to be able to move quickly if he needed to.

The monk was soon snoring like a muffled electric saw. He'd had four glasses of wine, though Daryl had been cautious to drink only one and a half. These people seemed trustworthy enough, but he wasn't about to get buzzed around them. He lay on his back, looked up at the rafters in the ceiling, let his eyelids flutter shut, and soon fell asleep.

[*]

Carol lay on her back in bed worrying, for awhile, about Rick's intimations. Then her mind shifted to Sofie's rescue of Ethan. She felt proud of the little girl, even if Sofie _should_ have stabbed the head first. Carol hadn't scolded her for that. She figured the girl had learned her lesson from experience, and Sofie wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Daryl, Carol feared, might feel guilty when he learned what had happened. She hoped Karen didn't cut off his relationship with Ethan because of it. Training up Ethan was good for Daryl. It brought out another side of him, one of his better sides. It gave him a chance to treat someone the way he probably wished his own father had treated him.

Carol wondered where he was now. If he was safe. If he was thinking of her, the way she was thinking of him.

[*]

Daryl awoke to the feel of a hand on his knee. Startled, he was reaching for the knife on his belt when Cassie whispered, "Shhh! It's just me."

He peered at her in the darkness. In the faint smattering of starlight that seeped through a single window, he made out her form. She was lying on her side beside him, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt, low-cut enough to reveal a good part of her bare cleavage.

"You have really nice arms," she said. "How do you stay in such good shape?"

"Christ, girl! What're ya doin' here?"

"Don't worry," she assured him. "My daddy's not gonna find out." She slid her hand up to his thigh. "It's just that it's been forever. I'm horny as hell, and you've got a decent enough body." And then she rested her hand straight on his crotch.

Daryl pushed her hand roughly aside. "Ain't ya got no self-respect? Hell's wrong with ya?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" she asked. "I _know_ I'm pretty. And I know you can't come across too many women in this world."

"I _got_ a woman," he hissed. "Now go on and get."

"Is Michonne your woman? Because I swear I won't tell her. It can be our little secret."

"No." Daryl scooted away from her, sat up, and then stood. "I said go on and get."

Cassie huffed and stood. "What's your problem? What, I don't meet your white trash standards?"

"Nah," he said. "Ya _don't_."

She clomped from the room, loud enough that the monk snorted and stirred, but he didn't wake up fully.

Daryl settled back on top of his sleeping bag, rattled. He had not seen that coming, although it wasn't the first time something like that had ever happened to him. Sometimes, when he and Merle had been crashing at one of Merle's meth-head friends' houses, the friend's sister or cousin (whichever one Merle didn't want), would crawl into bed with Daryl, drunk or high, and ask to be fucked. Whenever a woman did that, he just screwed her, like she wanted, because she was there, and she was offering, and that was about the only way he ever got laid. After all, it wasn't as if he ever _dated_ women. But he wasn't that man anymore. That _kid_ , as Carol might say.

Daryl was dozing off again when the door burst open with a loud kick and Peter Hampton leveled his rifle straight at his head. The rifle had a flashlight attached to the scope, and the beam blinded Daryl as he sat up. He shielded his eyes with his hand. It was the light that finally woke the monk.

"Get up!" Peter shouted. "Get up with your hands up!"

Brother Lawrence was standing now. "Calm down now, Peter," the monk cajoled, while Daryl stood with his hands up. "What seems to be the problem, here?"

"The problem is that your friend just tried to rape my daughter!"

"I ain't touched your daughter."

"Surely there's been some misunderstanding," Brother Lawrence insisted.

"She goes to get a drink of water downstairs in the tasting room, and this asshole assaults her!"

"That what she told you?" Daryl asked.

"She - " A knife pressed against Peter's neck, drawing a single drop of blood.

"Put the rifle down," Michonne said. "Let's talk this over."

Peter slowly relinquished his weapon, which the monk grabbed. "If you're at all reasonable, lady, I'd kindly ask you to take your friend here and go," Peter said to Michonne. "He tried to rape my daughter."

"I don't know what happened in here," Michonne said, "But I damn well know Daryl didn't try to rape your daughter."

"She came onto me," Daryl said. "And I ain't take her up on it."

"That's your sick fantasy!" Peter insisted. "Why would _my_ daughter come on to a white trash piece of shit like _you_?"

"Where is the young woman?" Brother Lawrence asked.

"I blockaded her in Peter's room with a chair," Michonne said. "Let's lock him in the room with her and take turns keeping watch outside it. We'll let them loose in the morning when we leave."

They swept the room for weapons, removed a knife, and left father and daughter together. Brother Lawrence volunteered for first watch, and Michonne took the bed he had vacated while Daryl lay back on his sleeping bag in the same room.

"What the hell happened?" Michonne asked him.

"What I said happened."

Michonne smirked. "Who knew you were so irresistible?"

"I ain't." He was good for a night, at most, but nothing more. He was worthless, when it came to women. No woman had ever wanted more than a one-night stand with him. Except Carol, apparently. She was the first woman to ever expect more from him. Friendship. Even more than friendship. What _did_ she want from him now? And could he give it to her?

Daryl lay with his hand on his stomach, an uneasy feeling seeping into him. "If somethin' like that'd happened in the old world," he said quietly, "someone like you - someone like Brother Lawrence...y'all would of believed _her_. Not me."

"We aren't in the old world," Michonne said, and then she rolled on her side and went to sleep.


	31. Chapter 31

When the trio left early the next morning, they dislodged the chair from the door and moved quickly, in case Peter had more guns hidden somewhere. Daryl took the man's rifle with him, but after they climbed down the rope ladder and reached the base of the hill, Brother Lawrence said, "Tie the rifle up in the ladder so he can recover it."

"Why?" Daryl asked.

"It may be the only gun they have. We can't leave them defenseless."

"Girl lied. Didn't care if I's defenseless when her daddy bust in that door."

"She wronged you," Brother Lawrence said. "But we made it out alive. Let's not repay evil for evil."

"That what you told yourself when you drove that crucifix in Negan's eye?"

"That was self-defense."

"Yeah, you tell yourself that, brother." Daryl rolled the bottom of the rope ladder around the rifle and cinched it tight. "Happy now?"

"I did take several bottles of wine for restitution, if that makes you feel any better."

When they were back on the highway, with Daryl at the wheel, Brother Lawrence mused, "I wonder why Cassie didn't climb into bed with _me_. I'm not wearing my cassock. I didn't mention I was a monk."

Michonne chuckled from the backseat.

"What?" he asked. "You don't think I'm a handsome fellow? I mean, excepting the beer gut." He patted his belly.

"You're a decent-looking man," Michonne told him, "but Daryl probably struck her as more...uh...how do I say this..."

"Virile?" the monk asked.

"I was going to say easy."

"Would y'all shut up?" Daryl hit the accelerator.

In an hour, after stopping to siphon more gas from abandoned cars, they had reached Waynesboro. They drove about the town for another hour, looking for any signs of a camp, active or deserted. Daryl slowed to a stop. Then he threw the truck into reverse.

"What did you see?" the monk asked.

"Tracks," he said. "Down that dirt road back there. In and out. Lots of 'em."

[*]

Rick found Carol in the greenhouse, lightly running a fingertip over the petals of one of her Cherokee rose. The watering can rested on the shelf to her left. "You taking it easy like the doctor said?"

Carol turned to face him. "I'm just doing a little watering."

"The counters said Tom Miller won the town election last night to take Spencer's place on the Council, by eight votes." Only two names had been entered for the election. If the victory had been narrower, they'd have re-voted when the scouting team returned.

"Tom Miller seems like a good candidate," Carol said. "We need a townie. Tom's as good as any."

"It'll be good to have him on the Council when it comes to expansion plans," Rick agreed. Tom hadn't fought directly in the War Against the Saviors, but he'd stood watch for Alexandria in case Negan's men made it to the gates, and he was of great value to the community as a carpenter. He put a hand on one hip and braced himself to tell Carol something he knew she didn't want to hear. "I told Karen what really happened with Ethan."

Carol hid her irritation, but not fast enough that Rick didn't spy a hint of that fire. "And?"

"She was upset. Naturally."

"With Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Not with Daryl exactly. With the _situation_. She actually said if Daryl hadn't been working with Ethan in the first place, he wouldn't have been able to get out of that situation alive."

Carol nodded. "Good. How's your big case coming along?"

Rick ran a hand across his mouth and contemplated telling her something else she _really_ didn't want to hear. But in the end, he put it off. Better to tell her when Daryl was back, he thought, and she had him to lean on. "I'm still working on my theory. When they've returned, we'll have a Council Meeting, and I'll tell everyone."

[*]

The trio followed the tire tracks all the way to a large, gravel parking lot. A dirt path lead from the parking lot to a single, country-style house. "Why such a big parkin' lot for a house?" Daryl asked.

"It used to be a winery," Brother Lawrence said.

"How many goddamn wineries are there in Virginia? Ain't that big a state."

"262. Give or take."

"And you know every one of 'em?" Daryl asked.

"I've visited a few."

They walked around the parking lot. They saw motorcycle, car, and truck tracks, but no vehicles. A few yards behind the house, they found that a latrine had been dug. "Ain't been used recently," Daryl said.

Cautiously, they went inside the house, sweeping their weapons about. Behind the bar, they found lots of empty wine bottles and a large ball of twine, the same kind of rope they'd seen on the hands of the women in the woods.

"Looks like their camp," Brother Lawrence said.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "And they done cleared out. Headed our way by the looks of it. Reckon we got 'em all. The ones the walkers didn't get."

"So that's it?" Michonne sheathed her sword. "Seems kind of anticlimatic."

"Don't worry," Daryl told her. "Sure we'll run into some trouble on the way home."

As they were heading out the door, the monk spied a guitar leaned in a corner. "Well, would you look at that?" He walked over and plucked it up.

"Ya already got one back home," Daryl told him.

"But this one's better than the one I've got."

"Men," Michonne muttered, shaking her head, "and their motorcycles and their guitars."

[*]

Daryl pulled the truck to a puttering stop. Steam rolled out of the engine, in gray, billowing waves. They had made it only twenty miles. "Climatic enough for ya?"

Michonne replied, "Depends how many walkers we have to kill before we find a new one."

The answer was four. They were able to slip by another five unnoticed. They found a pick-up with the keys still in it and half a tank of gas, though they had to smash a window and kill the walker inside before they could claim it.

"Just goes to show," Brother Lawrence said, "that when God closes a door, He opens a window."

They backtracked to reclaim their loot from the old pick-up before heading home again. Daryl was at the wheel now, and the monk was absently strumming his new guitar in the backseat. Michonne was doing another one of her relationship quizzes from yet another magazine she had picked up at the car graveyard. " _Find out: What kind of lover are you?_ I suppose I should share the results with Carol."

"Stop," Daryl said.

"What music do you prefer?" she asked. "R&B, country, classical, folk, or heavy metal?" When Daryl didn't answer, she said, "I'll put you down for heavy metal."

"It's classical, actually," the monk said from the backseat. "He likes the lack of words."

Michonne circled classical.

"Mine's folk," Brother Lawrence informed her.

Michonne underlined folk. "What's your favorite food?" Michonne read next. "Pork, veggies, fruit, or chocolate?"

Daryl hadn't meant to answer the question, but just hearing the word pork made his mouth water. "Goddamn what I wouldn't give for some Georgia barbecue right now."

Michonne circled pork. "Mmm-hmmm," she agreed. "You ever eat at Fox Bros in Atlanta?"

"Ain't exactly my scene. But there was this gas station in Macon. Best ribs I ever had."

"At a gas station?" Michonne asked skeptically.

"Yeah. Just 'cause it don't cater to the fancy crowd, don't mean it ain't good."

She laughed. "I never considered Fox Bros to have a fancy crowd, but, okay." She turned to face the monk in the backseat. "Pork for you, too?"

"Chocolate," he said. "I used to give it up every Lent."

She underlined chocolate and looked at the next question. "What's your favorite room of your house? Dining room, bedroom, hallway, kitchen, or bathroom?"

"Kitchen," said Daryl, forgetting for a second that he did _not_ want to play along. Carol was often in the kitchen. Being in that kitchen when she was there...smelling her cooking when she was cooking because she _wanted_ to, and not to play some role...that was as close to settled as he'd ever felt.

"Dining room," the monk said. "That's where all the conversation occurs."

"Which activity do you prefer," Michonne read, "walking, swimming, camping, running, or hiking?"

"I ain't playin' this stupid game," Daryl insisted.

"I'll put you down for camping."

"I rather enjoy walking," the monk said. "I used to stroll the grounds of the monastery daily in quiet contemplation."

"Like hell," Daryl said. "You and quiet ain't on speakin' terms."

Michonne flipped a page. "Which pet do you prefer? Bird, dog, cat, fish, or lizard?"

"Dog," Brother Lawrence answered. "Such loyal, affectionate creatures."

"I'm going to guess a lizard for Daryl," Michonne said.

"I think he's probably more of a cat person," the monk speculated. "They're solitary creatures, aloof, independent, good hunters, and prone to being easily irritated."

"You're right. He _is_ a cat person," Michonne circled cat. "Who would you rather be with on a typical day? A large crowd? A small group? With your significant other? Or alone?"

"I'm equally happy with any of them," Brother Lawrence insisted. "But I'll go with the small group."

"Do you even _have_ a significant other?" Michonne asked.

"To the charitable heart, all others are significant."

Michonne turned to Daryl. "And alone for you, Daryl? Or would you rather be with Carol on a typical day?"

Daryl ran his hands across his lips and stared through the windshield at the road.

Michonne circled significant other. "And now I have your results, gentlemen," she said. "You got _The Romantic_ , Brother Lawrence. _Swept away, you love the experience of being in love. The problem? When reality sets in, you may grow disillusioned._ "

The monk made a scoffing sound through his nostrils and looked out the window.

"Daryl, you got _The Pal_. You want me to read the description?"

"No."

" _You began as friends,_ " she read, " _Then, one day, you simply realized you were in love. Your relationship may be quiet, but it's strong. Be careful that things don't get too platonic. Plan a romantic evening and rev up your sex life._ "

The pick-up squealed to a sudden stop. Daryl threw it into park. "Yer drivin' now," he told her.


	32. Chapter 32

Carol eased into the bathtub. She hated that it had taken her a few minutes to undress herself. She had to get used to this one-handed living.

She sat up in the tub, keeping her sling out of the water as best as possible. The warm, foamy bath was drawn up to her navel, and she washed herself with a cloth. Carol considered her body as she did so – its freckles, its lines, the stretch marks that had never entirely vanished after Sophia was born, the breasts that were still firm but, in Ed's opinion, too small. She wondered what she'd been doing, teasing Daryl about sex, when this was all she had to offer him.

Her back felt cool against the porcelain of the tub as she leaned her head against the tile wall and tried to drown out that critical voice. Carol heard Daryl's voice in her mind's ear instead, from that night in the cabin - _Ed was an asshole and a liar._ Daryl wouldn't have told her that if he didn't believe it. He wouldn't have kissed her if he wasn't attracted to her. He wouldn't have slept beside her, holding her hand all night long. He wouldn't have told her he would move the bed away from that thin wall when he came back.

 _That's because he hasn't actually seen you yet, you frump_ , came that old, harsh voice. _When he does, he won't want a thing to do with you. Who would? Look at all these young, fit, women in Alexandria. Remember Beth? Young and fresh and beautiful and blonde. That's what he's got to compare you to. How could he possibly want you?_

A newer, more confident voice reminded Carol that Daryl had, in fact, seen her naked. He'd stripped her after she'd fallen through the ice. He'd seen her without a stitch of clothing on, in all her flawed nakedness, and he'd woken up the next morning with a hard-on.

 _Just morning wood. It was dark in that cabin. And it wasn't like he spent time looking, with you near freezing. Wait until he sees you up close, in the light, for more than a few seconds. Once he does, he's not -_

"- Shut up!" Carol flung the washcloth against the opposite wall. It hit the tile with a damp thud and slid down into the water. "Fuck you, Ed," she muttered, and closed her eyes.

She soaked for awhile in the tub, remembering the feel of Daryl spooned against her before the fire in the warmth of that sleeping bag. She let the fingertips of her free hand trail from her neck. What would Daryl be like, if and when they finally came together? Would he be gentle in bed, or commanding? Fast or slow? Would he want to follow her lead or take charge himself? Carol's hand slid over her abdomen and dipped into the water. She imagined they were Daryl's fingers instead, between her legs. No, not his fingers, but his tongue...the tongue that had filled her mouth with a hot, eager, thrashing wetness in the greenhouse...

Daryl's husky, familiar voice whispered in her mind's ear, _Home is where you are._ She heard him saying, too, _A'right. Move it for you when I get back_.

She pictured Daryl moving the bed...

Daryl moving _in_ the bed...

Daryl moving in _her..._

Ripples cascaded out across the surface of the bath water as she shuddered out her release. Carol hadn't quite recovered her breath when the guilt rolled in.

Ed had caught her masturbating once, when he'd been out on a bender with the boys, gone for two days, and come home late one night, creeping quietly into the house and their bedroom. He'd called her a whore and told her that her job was to please him, not herself, and then he'd slapped her across the face before he passed out.

Carol fought off the ugly sense of shame. She scooted forward in the tub and turned back on the water, letting the fresh, clean, hot spray fall like a fountain.

 **[*]**

Because they knew where the road blockages were, and had already figured out the routes around them, it took the trio less time to get home. They continued to drive in shifts after sunset and arrived at the gates of Alexandria some time between one and two in the morning. Carl and Enid were on watch, standing on the platform atop the wall, kissing. They pulled apart as the pick-up rolled in.

"Looks like the little sheriff is finally getting some action," Michonne said.

"Don't like that girl," Daryl muttered. "She don't treat him right."

"She toys with him," Michonne agreed. "But that's all part of the game at this age. And she's got her own shit to work through." Carl had noticed their presence and was leveling his gun. She opened her door of the pick-up slightly, enough to call through the opening, "It's Michonne!"

Carl lowered his gun.

The trio climbed out as the gate rolled open.

"Didn't recognize the truck," Carl said as he emerged through the opening. Enid continued to keep watch on the wall.

"Well, we got a new one on the way," Michonne said.

"Find the camp?" Carl asked.

"Abandoned," Daryl replied. "We got 'em all, I reckon."

"No supplies?" the teenager asked.

"Diapers and formula and a few other things in the bed of the pick-up," Michonne answered. "Our hands are full, though. Would you get them?"

"Cover me," Carl called up to Enid, and then went out and began unloading.

[*]

Daryl walked quickly to the house, ahead of Brother Lawrence. He didn't expect Carol to be awake, but he just wanted to be under the same roof as her. In his own bedroom, he stripped off his boots and socks. He went to the hall bath for a quick shower. When he came out, with a towel wrapped around his waist and his dirty clothes in one hand, he paused before Carol's bedroom door and considered knocking, but he didn't want to wake her. And he wasn't positive she wanted him in her bed. How long would it be, really, before she decided she'd made some terrible mistake? That she never should have kissed him in that greenhouse?

He sighed in the hallway and tried to force the doubt away. She'd said she _loved_ him before he left. No one had ever said that to him before. He hadn't even known how to respond.

 _Well, now, every big sister loves her baby brother_ , Merle's sarcastic voice told him. _Don't she?_

But Carol had invited him to tuck her in two nights ago - not the other way around.

 _And wasn't that sweet?_ Merle's phantom asked. _A little hand holding. Like you was in 5th grade._ Daryl could almost hear his disdainful laugh. _She must really want you, little brother..._

"Shut up, Merle," he muttered in his mind, and went to his own room, to his own bed.

He lay down on it on his back, his hair wetting the pillow, and slid his hand beneath the white terry cloth of the towel at his waist. He thought of Carol, of the way her tongue felt inside his mouth in the greenhouse, during that first delicious kiss, when she'd surprised him with her eager response. He thought of her round, pert breasts...the breasts he hadn't allowed himself to look at for more than a second when he'd undressed her after the fall through the ice...the breasts he longed to see again, to touch, to taste. He thought of her spooned naked against him in that sleeping bag, pressed against his flesh, only his thin boxers between them, and of the way it had felt that morning when she shifted her bare ass back against his –

"Oh, sweet...fuck!...ahhh…" He breathed in and out, hard, until he got control. He stood up, feeling more angry than relaxed, and wiped himself off with the towel before tossing it in a crumpled pile in the corner. Then he grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from his drawer, yanked them on, and crawled back into bed, disgusted with himself.

How long had that taken? Fifty seconds? Damn it to hell. He was never going to please her.

[*]

When Carol walked into the kitchen the next morning, she jumped to see Brother Lawrence there, making coffee. "Daryl?" she asked anxiously.

"He's probably still sleeping. We didn't get in until almost two."

"But everyone's fine?" she asked. "No injuries?"

"No injuries," he said, and gave her a recap of their adventures, omitting certain details, namely the part about Cassie propositioning Daryl and then accusing him.

"So, did you invite those two to Alexandria?" Carol asked. "Since they took you into their winery for the night and fed you?"

"Uhmh..." Brother Lawrence pushed down slowly on the handle of the French press. "No, no. We didn't tell them about Alexandria. We didn't think they were good Alexandria material."

"Why not?"

He poured a cup of coffee. "That's a long, boring story." He pushed the cup across the counter to her and poured himself another. "Rick's called a Council meeting this morning. It's in thirty minutes. You better wake up Daryl and tell him."

Now it was Carol's turn to bring the coffee. It took Daryl awhile to answer her knock, and when he did, he was wearing nothing but a pair of solid black boxers and rubbing sleep dust from his eyes. So he'd lied. He didn't usually sleep in his pants.

"Coffee," she said. He murmured his thanks, took the cup, walked inside, and sat on the bed.

She sat beside him. "Glad you're home safe."

"How ya feelin'?"

"Well, I have more _energy_ ," she answered with a suggestive lilt to her voice and more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yeah?" Daryl smiled into his cup as he took a sip.

It made her nervous, that slightly lecherous smile of his. She still wasn't quite used to him accepting her flirtations instead of telling her to stop it. What was he expecting? Could she give it to him? She reached out and lightly touched the hair at the nape of his neck. He leaned in and kissed her softly, pulled away, and searched her eyes, a little uncertainly. He must have seen what he was looking for in them, because he set his coffee cup down on the nightstand, put his warm hand on her cheek, and kissed her more deeply.

Carol was the first to pull away this time. "Rick's called a Council meeting. Fifteen minutes from now."

"Does that mean I gotta put on pants?"

[*]

Rick stood next to Tom Miller in the center of his living room and introduced him as the latest elected member of the Council. Michonne gave a report of what they had discovered in Waynesboro, and then Rick summarized the events of the incident under Carol's porch. Carol watched as Daryl stiffened and then paled.

"Damn," Daryl murmured as he took a step closer to the mantle and gripped it with one hand. "If Ethan'd of died - "

"- He _didn't_ die," Carol assured him from where she sat on the couch.

"I got an I.D. on the victim," Rick said, "And I've put together a theory. But I don't think you're going to like it, Carol."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Tobin killed him."

Daryl looked anxiously at Carol.

She shook her head. "Not possible. You have no idea how mild that man was." Tobin couldn't believe what Carol was capable of. Her ability to kill to protect those she loved _frightened_ him. He'd _told_ her so.

"Look," Rick said, "I know you two were intimate - "

Daryl stared straight at the living room carpet.

"- Not _that_ intimate," Carol hastily interrupted him. She'd shared Tobin's house, but she hadn't shared her body. She'd told him she needed "time," and he'd been patient about it - being the mild man that he was. _Murderers_ weren't _mild._

"James identified the body," Rick said. "It's Tobin's brother Roger. Now, apparently, Roger was in a relationship with some woman, but Tobin got together with her behind his back."

"Tobin never mentioned a brother," Carol said. " _Or_ a girlfriend."

Rick motioned to the newest member of the Council. "Tom can confirm all this. He was here from the beginning."

Tom nodded. "When Deanna banished that group," Tom explained, "Tobin told everyone his brother left with them. He said they'd had a falling out over this woman, and his brother couldn't stand to see his face anymore.

"Only, obviously, Roger _didn't_ leave," Rick said. "He was murdered."

Carol shook her head. "That's not possible." What she didn't want to believe was possible was that she could be such a poor judge of character. People underestimated _her._ She made it a point _not_ to underestimate them.

"I don't know what to tell you, Carol," Rick said softly. "The pieces of the puzzle fit together. Tobin had motive - he wanted his brother's girlfriend - he lied about his brother leaving, and the body was buried under _his_ porch. Nadia said the wounds are consistent with a kitchen knife. Your carver's block in that house..."

 _...Was missing a knife._ Carol shook her head. She swallowed and felt strangely faint, but she kept herself steady.

"Brother John let me borrow that metal detector of his," Rick said. "And I went under your porch yesterday evening. And I found that knife buried there, not too far from where the body was."

Eight pairs of eyes seemed to be boring into Carol. She felt Daryl's gaze the heaviest. "No," she said. "It can't be true. If it's true, then where's this woman? Why wasn't Tobin with her when we moved in?"

"They broke up before you arrived," Tom Miller explained. "Her name was Mary Ellen."

Carol couldn't put a face with that name.

"She was killed when the Wolves attacked Alexandria," Rick said.

Carol took in a deep breath and sighed it out.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Rick told her. "I know you thought well of him. But I'm closing this case. Everything lines up in my theory, and everyone involved is dead. It's best laid to rest."

"Great work, detective," Carol said, more snidely than she'd meant to. She was still processing this revelation. She hadn't loved Tobin, but she'd _liked_ him. How could that man have sat there, and lied so convincingly, when he'd said the things _she_ could do scared him? Her stomach seemed to be gnawing itself. Was this the same sickness Rick had felt when he'd learned she'd killed Karen and David?

Carol stood from the couch and paced to the other end of the mantle, where she noticed Daryl watching her with concern in his eyes. "I'm fine," she said. "What's the next order of business?"

Rick cleared his throat and, eyeing Carol somewhat warily, changed the topic. The Council discussed expansion plans and the need to prepare more land for farming. Tom suggested building a warehouse to store supplies, as the pantry was beginning to overflow. After a few more points of business were covered, Brother Lawrence stood from his arm chair and spoke. "I motion that I step down from the Council, before my term is complete, effective today, and that a special election be held to replace me."

"What?" Michonne asked.

"Why would you do that?" Glenn asked.

"You're a valued member of this Council, brother," Rick told him. "Of this whole community. You helped us in the War. You've been on supply runs, on scouting expeditions, you've led the monks - "

"- I have not led the monks. Not as they wish to be led, anyway. I had their approval when the Council was first formed after the War. I don't have it any longer. They don't feel it's fair to them that the monastery camp should have no representation on this Council."

"You don't feel you represent their interests?" Rick asked skeptically.

"Honestly? I don't feel any of us should _have_ distinct interests. I don't feel we should speak any longer of the prison camp, or the townies, or the monastery camp. This is Alexandria. Some of us" - he looked at Tom Miller, "are natives. And some of us" - he tapped his own chest, "are refugees." He looked over the rest of the council, and with a light smile, said, "and some of us came on work visas. But this is _our_ country. This is our home - Alexandria. And we need to do what's best for _all_ of us."

"Well, that's exactly the sort of voice we need on this council," Glenn said. "Why quit now?"

"I earned the vote of the monks and the monastery's refugees under certain conditions that no longer apply."

"What conditions?" Abraham asked.

"I was elected when I was a monk, and early this morning, I formally renounced my vows."

"What?" Abraham asked.

"I renounced my vows. I'm no longer a brother."

"Why?" Father Gabriel asked.

"That would take a book to answer."

"Or maybe just a woman," Michonne suggested.

"That doesn't mean you have to step down from the Council," Carol told him.

"I think it does," the ex-monk replied. "In fairness to those who put me here, I owe them the opportunity to replace me."

"Your confirmation took a majority vote," Abraham reminded him. "The monks weren't the only people voting for you."

"But without their support, I would not have been confirmed."

"Fine," Rick said. "If that's what you want, we'll accept nominations this afternoon. Hold a special mid-term election and take a vote."

The Council discussed some more minor plans. Abraham had an announcement of his own: "Sasha's pregnant." Congratulations were handed out, most enthusiastically by Glenn. "Misery loves company?" Abraham joked.

They parted each to their own jobs. Daryl walked Carol to the greenhouse on his way to hunt. As they walked, he asked, "You a'right? Ya know...Tobin."

"I still don't quite believe it," she told him. "I should have been able to sense that about him, shouldn't I? If he was a murderer?"

"People ain't always what they seem. You ain't."

Carol thought immediately of her difficult decision to kill Karen and David to try to halt the spread of disease, and then she pictured Lizzie, looking at those flowers. "What's that mean?"

"Nothin'. Just, people were surprised when they saw what you could do."

She slowed her pace a little. "Were _you_?"

"Nah," he said, one edge of his lips turning up. "I liked you first."

"I thought you meant the terrible things I could do."

"Terrible things like savin' all our asses at Terminus? Like takin' a bullet to defend this town? You think it's a _terrible_ thing, protectin' the people you love?"

"You know the things I've done."

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "Gotta find some way to live with that. Some way that don't end with you runnin' away again."

"I'm not running anymore, Daryl. I just..." She shook her head and sighed. "It's better I don't talk about it. That I just don't _think_ about it."

"A'right." He turned and started walking again. "How 'bout that Brother Lawrence?"

She was grateful for his intentional change of topic. "We can't call him _Brother_ anymore. Did it surprise you? Him renouncing his vows?"

"Long time comin', I reckon."

"I suppose so. But I don't think he should have stepped down from the Council like that. He was fairly elected, and he should serve his term."

Daryl shrugged. "Man's gotta do what feels right to him."

Carol nodded. "He's a man of honor. Like you."

Daryl glanced at her, the way he always did when he was complimented - with that faint look of disbelief.

"So are he and Nadia actually together now?" she asked.

"What do I look like? Dr. Phil? I dunno."

"Thought he might have said something on your trip."

"Nah. He didn't say nothin' 'bout that."

She peered over at him. "I'm surprised you're familiar with Dr. Phil."

"I got culture." She laughed, and he explained, "T.V. was on a lot when Merle was shootin' up. He'd watch anythin' high."

"How come you never did any of that?" she asked.

"Meth?"

She nodded.

"Saw what it did to Merle. And my mamma."

"I didn't know your mother did it too."

He gritted his teeth and glanced off at the graveyard they were passing.

"Did your father?"

"Nah. His drug was whiskey and women. And beatin' the shit out his sons."

Carol reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it. She didn't hold onto it. She didn't think Daryl wanted her to. He wasn't the type to want to walk hand in hand through the town center. So they walked side by side, silently, the rest of the way to the greenhouse, where they parted ways with knowing nods.


	33. Chapter 33

As Carol plucked the green beans with one hand and dropped them into a bushel, she tried to push down all thoughts of Tobin, but every time she did, some darker memory arose, as though displaced by the weight of the latest horrifying revelation. She worked harder, faster, until the vines were clear and the bushel was full. The bushel she put in a red, Radio Flyer wagon and began dragging it door to door, distributing two handfuls for every household. She'd have to record the distribution in the town ledger later. Carol told Karen Campbell to take three handfuls. "You have so many kids in this house, after all."

Karen thanked her. "And how are you?" she asked softly. "What with the news? About Tobin?"

Did everyone in the entire town know now? "I'm fine," she said hastily. "How's Ethan? After his scare under the porch?"

"He's been handling it very well. He's out hunting with Daryl now." She smiled. "I'm glad he's taken an interest in mentoring Ethan. Maybe if we'd both been stronger sooner, we wouldn't have lost his father."

Carol was suddenly reminded that every woman in Alexandria had her own private pain. She wasn't the only one with regrets.

"Do you want help delivering the rest?" Karen asked.

"No, I'll be fine," Carol told her. "I need the walk." She needed the fresh air, too. She was beginning to feel like she couldn't breathe. Carol didn't like to think that she had misread Tobin so terribly. Feeling like she could see through others, while they couldn't possible see through her, had given her some sense of control in this chaotic world. And now, she was reeling.

She stopped by the Miller's house next, and got yet another reminder of the thing she was trying to bury. "Quite the shock you got today," Tom Miller said as he scooped up his house's share of green beans and put them down on a little table on his porch.

"Were you shocked?" Carol asked, deciding that if she couldn't bury the truth, she should at least try to get a handle on it.

"I should be," he said. "But nothing shocks me as much in this world as it did in the old one. You know what I mean?"

She did, all too well. The things she could do...the things she _had_ done... "Did you know Tobin well?"

"We were acquaintances. Not really friends. I knew he had a strained relationship with his brother, but I didn't think he was capable of murder. He could get mean, though, when he was drinking."

"Tobin didn't drink," Carol told him.

"Not by the time you got here, no. The alcohol ran out, and that gave him a chance to...detox. He changed, after he stopped drinking. He became a better man. This world...it changes people in a hundred different ways. It makes some of us worse, and some of us better."

"You have a good day, Tom." Carol began dragging her little red wagon from the house. The wheels creaked, like a child's whine, and she thought of the time she'd pulled a four-year old Sophia in just such a wagon, at the county fair, and the girl had started crying, because Ed bent down and devoured half the scoop of ice cream on her cone in one bite. He'd gotten mad at Carol for Sophia's crying. He'd told Carol she shouldn't have bought her such a big ice cream, and she'd pay for it when they got home. She _had_ paid for it when they got home, after Sophia was in bed, with a black eye. She'd been a different person back then. A weaker person. But also a less violent one. Tom was right. This world changed people, and sometimes she didn't know if it had made her better or worse.

When she finally returned to her own house, Carol took the remaining green beans to the kitchen to wash and snap them, which she knew would be tricky to do with one hand. Brother Lawrence was at the kitchen table, waxing the string of his longbow. As she began her project, she said, "That was unexpected at the meeting today."

She was talking about him renouncing his vows and stepping down from the Council, but he said, "I'm sure it can't be easy for you. I gather you trusted Tobin? Thought well of him?"

It was a simple question, and it shouldn't have affected her the way it did. Carol had spent all morning shoving Tobin back down into the hidden compartment where she stored all the dark things. But by now, that storage chest was bulging at the seams. The chains she'd used to bind it were rattling, and the lock was about to burst - _did_ burst - in a sudden and completely unexpected sob that ripped from her throat.

She immediately choked it down, but not before Brother Lawrence could drop his bow with a thud to the table and stride across the kitchen floor to her. He stood a foot away from her, holding his hands out, on either side of her shoulders, as though trying to gauge whether she wanted to be touched.

She didn't.

Carol stepped away from him, turned her back to him, and busied herself with the snapping.

"Carol," he said softly, "if I can be of any help at all..."

She took in a long, shaky breath as she tried to cram the dark things back into the secret chest and wrap the chain around it again, but she couldn't make it fit - the lid kept rattling and the chains kept slipping off. "I can't let myself..." she said. "I know myself. And I can't let myself feel _any_ of it."

"If you let it out," he said, "perhaps you could let it go?"

"It's not about Tobin. It's about my own guilt. And if I let that loose...I'd end up running away again. I'd end up...I don't know where I'd end up. You have _no idea_ the things I've done."

He leaned against the counter, right beside her, so that she couldn't help but see him out of the corner of her eye. "No," he said. "But I have some idea of the things _I've_ done. They aren't things I ever imagined myself doing either."

Carol shook her head.

"When the Roman soldiers came to John the Baptist," Lawrence said, "and they asked him what they should do, he didn't tell them to lay down their arms. He told them - _continue in your profession_. But he cautioned them to extort no one and to do no wrongful violence. There's a middle ground, Carol. It doesn't have to be all Morgan's peaceful way or all Negan's violent way. We strive to find the middle ground, and we strive to stay there. Sometimes...sometimes we cross the line. We _all_ have. But there is a God who forgives. A God of second chances."

"Oh," she scoffed, "this morning you renounce your vows, and _now_ you want to play priest to me?"

"I want to play _friend_ to you."

She turned her face to him and spoke angrily. "When we were in the prison camp, I killed two innocent people because they were sick, and I was afraid the sickness would spread and kill everyone I loved. Later, I shot a little girl because she was sick in the head, and she'd killed her sister, and I was afraid she'd kill again." When the words were out, she couldn't believe she'd said them. She hadn't even told Daryl about Lizzie, not the full story. "I'm no better than Tobin," she spat. "He murdered for the woman he loved. I murdered for the people I loved." Carol's cheeks felt warm and wet from the tears she hadn't even realized she was shedding. "What's the difference, really? Can you tell me?"

"I wouldn't dare try. Whether or not there _is_ a difference, your own conscience condemns you. But you don't have to convince yourself any of it was _right_ , Carol. If that's what you've been trying to do...it's like swimming against the stream of your own conscience. You don't have to justify it. You don't have to bury it either. You just have to _forgive_ yourself for it. Start again. The old creation is gone...the new is here. As far as the east is from the west, that's how far our transgressions can be removed from us."

Carol wiped violently at the tears on her cheeks with her fingers. "I want to believe that."

"Then _let_ yourself believe it."

She smiled faintly, through the tears. She sniffled and nodded, and felt something strange happening in her gut, like a painful knot unraveling itself.

Lawrence put a hand on her shoulder and began to draw her closer. The kitchen door swung open, and Daryl stood there, holding a snowshoe hare upside down by its feet. He looked from Carol's tear-stained face to the ex-monk and back to Carol.

"The hell?" he asked.

Lawrence stepped away. "Carol could use a shoulder to cry on," he said. "And I'm guessing she doesn't want it to be mine." He walked over to the kitchen table, took up his longbow, and left.

Daryl abruptly dropped the hare on the counter and, careful of the sling, put one hand on the small of Carol's back and the other just between her shoulder blades. He searched her eyes. She closed them beneath his gaze, stepped closer, and let her cheek fall against his shoulder. He smelled like leather and cold forest air, and Carol breathed him in.

His voice was strained with fear. "'S wrong? Tobin?"

"It's more than that," she answered between sniffles. "I want to start over. I want to let go of the past."

"A'ight."

"How many times do you think we get to do that?"

"Dunno." He pulled back, put a hand on each of her cheeks, and bent his head to kiss her forehead, softly. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his callused thumb. Then he looked into her eyes, his own the slightest bit damp. "If we're lucky, maybe 'til we get it right."

[*]

When Michonne walked out onto the back porch, Rick was violently cleaning his handgun on the little table between the two rocking chairs. "Try a little tenderness," she told him.

He pulled the rod out of the barrel, lay it on the table, and sighed. "I hated having to tell Carol about Tobin."

Michonne slid down on the rocking chair. "She'll handle it. She's a strong woman."

Rick nodded. "Like you."

Michonne smiled slightly. "We're strong in different ways." She cocked her head. "When your done, why don't you come inside, and I'll help you relax."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[*]

Daryl rapped three times on the inside of the ex-monk's open bedroom door. Carol was in the kitchen, preparing dinner with Sofie.

Lawrence looked up from his desk in the corner of the bedroom. His hands were on the keys of an old fashioned, manual typewriter, one that had somehow survived the monastery fire. "Listen, Daryl," he said, "if you're concerned about what you saw in the kitchen earlier, about me touching Carol, I was merely trying to - "

"- Ain't concerned," Daryl interrupted. "Don't know precisely what y'all was talkin' 'bout, but whatever it was, that's 'tween you and her. Don't need to know any more 'bout it than what Carol chose to tell me."

"Then why are you in my doorway?"

"Need your help with somethin'."

Lawrence stood. "What's that?"

"Got to move Carol's bed."

The ex-monk raised an eyebrow but did not comment. When they were in her room, however, sliding it from the wall she shared with Nadia's room to the wall she shared with Daryl's room, he said, "Women are funny about furniture. They're never satisfied with its positioning, are they?"

"Guess not," Daryl muttered. He straightened up and looked at the bed against the wall that Carol's bedroom shared with his. "Ain't quite centered."

"Who knew you had an aesthetic eye?"

"Just shut up and help me center it."

Sofie popped her head in the doorway. "It's dinnertime," she told them, and Daryl said, "Be right down."

After they'd centered the bed, Daryl said, "Thanks."

"Happy to help," Lawrence said. "It's hard to move a bed alone."

"Not for that. For whatever you told Carol." Lawrence began to speak, but Daryl held up a hand to silence him. "I don't need to know. Ain't my business." Hell, he'd used Lawrence as a confessor of sorts himself already, and he wouldn't want the ex-monk blabbing to Carol about everything he said. "But I think it helped. She seems...more relaxed."

"Good," Lawrence said. He clapped a hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Well, I'm famished, are you?"

They headed downstairs together.


	34. Chapter 34

At the town meeting that evening, which was held outside around a warming bonfire, the younger kids roasted the stale circus peanuts candy Daryl had picked up from the CVS two runs ago. Ethan's mom Karen Campbell and Brother Timothy were both running for the slot Brother Lawrence had vacated, and once they gave their speeches, Rick opened the floor for questions.

Brother Mark asked, "What's your position on allotting land for an outdoor sanctuary?"

"I'll lobby for that when I'm on the Council," Brother Timothy answered.

Karen said, "I think we should take a vote of the entire town to see if that's something people want to invest resources in, but it could be a multi-purpose outdoor facility. Worship, theater, town meetings, outdoor school."

"We need more grain for the brewery," Brother William called out. "Would either of you make organizing a supply run for that purpose a priority?"

"I certainly would," answered Brother Timothy.

Karen answered, "I believe we should maintain a central list of desired supplies. Anyone in Alexandria should be able to contribute suggestions to that list, and then the Council should organize routine, weekly or bi-monthly supply runs to maximize collections, instead of just travelling out at whim only as items are needed. If we..."

Carol, who was standing a few feet from the flames and watching the exchange, leaned close to Daryl. "Karen sounds very sensible to me."

He reached over, and for a second she thought he was actually going to take her hand, right here, in public, in front of everyone. But instead he just turned her wrist so he could read her watch. "Time for my shift. Gotta go relieve Abraham on the wall."

"What, and miss all this excitement?"

"Pffft." He let go of her arm.

"When do you get off?" she asked.

"Guess that's up to you."

She snorted and covered her mouth and nose to hide the sound. "Stop," she mumbled through her fingers. He'd never made a sexual joke like that before. She was surprised, amused, excited, and a little anxious all at once.

Perhaps he saw the anxiety in her eyes, because he nodded to her sling and said, "I know we ain't doin' nothin' tonight...but...uh...if ya just want company..."

"I do."

"Come by 'bout midnight?"

She nodded, and Daryl snuck quietly from the meeting.

[*]

When Carol walked into her room that night, she saw that her bed had been moved against the opposite wall, and the fact made her cheeks hot. Daryl hadn't been joking. But he wasn't expecting sex tonight, was he? He'd told her he _knew_ they weren't doing _anything_. He just planned to sleep with her...literally. Didn't he?

Carol slowly undressed herself and then dressed for bed. She put on a Redskins jersey she'd picked up on the road, because it made a comfortable nightshirt. It fell to just above her knees. Underneath that, she put on her lacy black panties. She wasn't sure why, since they _weren't_ doing anything tonight, but it made her feel prettier.

It was 11:15 when she crawled into bed and picked up a book. By the glow of the single nightstand lamp, she _tried_ to read. Her eyes would span an entire page before she realized she hadn't processed a word of it, and then she would backtrack and read it again.

[*]

Daryl handed Rick the binoculars when the man came to relieve him on the wall. "I've been trying to think how to pop the question."

"The question?" Daryl asked.

" _The_ question. To Michonne. Not you."

"Ah."

Rick looked over the fence. "But I think I'm going to wait. Until everything's more settled. You know?"

Daryl didn't know. Things were never settled. They were no more or less settled now than they'd ever been. "Mhmhm." Rick clearly had been looking for something more reassuring, but Daryl didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to be a proper friend. So he said what Lawrence had said to him, back at that nursing home. "Car pay dee hum."

"What?"

"Car pay dee hum. Means...go for it."

Rick laughed. "Yeah, well...maybe I will. Next week. Or month." He gave Daryl a friendly slap on the back.

"I best get goin'."

"Because Carol's expecting you?"

Daryl flushed and didn't answer.

Rick winked. " _Carpe diem_ , brother."

[*]

Daryl lingered in the open doorway, studying the smooth lines of Carol's face. Finally, he said, "Knock, knock."

She put a bookmark in the book and set it on the nightstand. "Come in."

Daryl did, closing the door behind himself. He was barefoot and wearing a tan muscle T-shirt and pants. Cautiously, he walked inside and stood at the side of the bed opposite her.

"Get comfortable," Carol said.

He pulled his t-shirt off over his head, ruffling his hair, and dropped it on the floor. Carol's eyes swept over the breadth of his shoulders and down the light brown spray of hair that trailed its way from between his pectoral muscles, weaving an increasingly thinner path until it dipped into his pants. Her eyes lingered, for a moment, at the spot where it disappeared, where his hand now paused on the button of his pants. "Mind?" he asked. "If I sleep in my boxers?"

"I thought you said you wanted to be ready for anything."

"I do."

Daryl couldn't believe he'd said that. Sexually playful joking was _her_ territory, not _his_. And yet here he'd done it, twice in one night. And it had made her smile. Both times. But it had also made her look nervous. Both times.

Even so, she told him, "Go on then" and gestured at him with a tilt of her head, which he supposed meant he should drop his pants and climb in. He didn't imagine she was offering sex. She was still in bad shape from her injuries, and she also seemed to be keeping him at arm's length when it came to the physical. At least, that was the vibe he was getting from her. And as badly as he wanted her, he didn't mind waiting. He wasn't in any hurry to disappoint her.

So, after stepping out of his pants, he slid under the sheets and blanket in only his boxers and simply sat up against the headboard next to her. Not quite sure what to do with his hands, he folded them on his lap. He wasn't sure what to say, either, but he thought he should try to say _something_.

He'd never been on a date. Never taken a woman to dinner. Never sat across a candle lit table and tried to have a conversation. The women he'd been with in the past had been sexually aggressive, and he'd never had to _talk_ to one. Not really. Not for long. But now he had to try. And that made him a hell of a lot more nervous than staring down a walker.

He nodded to her book on the nightstand. "Whatcha been readin'?"

" _Romanced by the Redneck._ "

"Like hell."

She laughed. "I wish you hadn't thrown that book across that parking lot. It might have been funny to read."

His eyes flickered with irritation. Is that how she thought of them together? Some kind of joke? He tried not to think it. She wouldn't have invited him into her bed if she felt that way. She wouldn't have said she loved him.

She peered at him. Her voice softer now, she said, " I was reading _Harry Potter_."

"That wizard boy?"

"You've read it?"

"Saw one of the movies." He'd watched it in Merle's girlfriend's trailer, which had a giant satellite dish out back, where he'd been left to sleep on the torn-up, smoke-infested couch in the tiny living room. He'd turned the volume way up, to drown out the sound of Merle and the girl getting high and humping loudly in the bedroom a few feet away.

"It's Sofie's favorite book. Pretty good, actually, but I was more into _Little House on the Prairie_ at her age. I also loved _Little Women_. All those loving, domestic tales." She shrugged. "So I guess I did like fantasy after all."

Daryl felt a flash of anger at Ed. Then he wondered if she wasn't even talking about Ed. Maybe she was talking about here and now, about how they weren't going to be able to build a normal life. Did she _want_ to build a life with him? What would that even look like? He didn't want to worry about all that. So he said, "I liked _The Leather Stockin' Tales_ when I's a boy _._ Fen somebody."

"James Fenimore Cooper."

"Mhmm." He nodded. "And _Treasure Island_. Steven someone."

"Robert Louis Stevenson, I think."

"Maybe. And I used to like that...uh...Kiplin' shit. _Jungle Books_."

"I never would have guessed you read so much as a boy."

Daryl's jaw tightened. What was he doing here, in this bed, with this woman? Carol was too good for him, and part of her knew it. And he hated that she knew it. "I can read! I ain't stupid!"

She flinched a little when he raised his voice, and he felt guilty. He hadn't meant to get angry.

"I never suggested you were," she said quietly, playing the calm to his storm, like she must have done with Ed a thousand times.

If she wasn't used to getting slapped around, Daryl wondered, if she wasn't already used to far worse - would Carol even consider putting up with his own short fuse? With his lack of social graces? With his general surliness? The farther in time she got from Ed, Daryl feared, the less she'd want a raw man like him.

He looked straight ahead at the opposite wall. "Sorry I yelled at ya."

She didn't tell him it was okay, but she didn't criticize him for it either. She spoke softly but decisively. "I know you can read, Daryl. I just assumed you probably didn't read _a lot_ as a boy, that'd you'd be too busy hunting and fishing and all that."

He picked at some dirt under his thumbnail. He'd washed his hands before he came to bed, and his face, with soap and everything. He'd brushed his teeth too. But he was still dirty. Was that blood under his thumbnail? He probably stank, too. He should have taken a shower. He'd been hunting. Why didn't he think to take a shower?

"Everybody's looked to Rick since the beginning," Carol said, "looked to him for answers, but, you know, I've always thought you were every bit as smart as Rick."

Daryl stopped picking under his thumbnail. "What?" Was she joking with him?

"I don't mean as educated or as articulate. But every bit as smart. You know how to shoot, hunt, fish, _and_ track. You can repair a motorcycle, take apart and put together a gun or a crossbow, fix a dozen different things around the house. Even if you've never done something before, you can usually figure it out. You have more determination than any man I've ever met."

Daryl felt a sense of pride swelling up in his chest. Carol _respected_ him. But his daddy's voice said, _Well she shouldn't_ , _because you ain't worth shit._ He ignored that voice, and listened to hers instead: "You've been a good teacher to Ethan," she told him. "You know how to listen, too. You listen more than you talk. These people are always talking..." She shook her head. "But you're smarter than that. You stop to take it all in. And somewhere...somewhere in there, I know you're processing it all." She turned her head toward him and smiled lightly.

Daryl couldn't manage to hold her eyes. She'd said more nice things to him in the last minute than anyone had ever said to him his entire life. He swallowed and tried to form words and lamely produced, "Ya ain't dumb yerself." He could feel her still looking at him and struggled for something more to say. "And yer...uh...yer real pretty."

"Do you really think so?" Carol asked softly.

"' _Course_ I do."

"Ed always used to call me Plain Jane to his friends."

"Might of mentioned this before, but Ed was an asshole and a liar."

"I know. But it's not like I've ever turned men's heads, even when I was younger. And I'm no spring chicken now."

"I ain't interested in chickens."

She laughed. "So I take it it's okay with you that I stopped dying my hair?" She'd had sandy blonde hair as a girl, but she'd gone completely gray by the age of 35. People had thought she was 50 when she turned 40.

"Didn't like you doin' it in the first place. Looked ridiculous. Ya look nicer the way it's _s'posed_ to be."

"You actually _like_ the gray? Why?"

"Same color as my first car."

"Yeah?" she asked with a teasing smile. "You remember that car fondly? Did you lose your virginity in the back seat of that car?"

"Nah. Weren't old enough to get my license for another two years when I done that."

"So you were _14_?" she asked.

"Yeah, I's a late bloomer."

"That's not _late_ , Daryl."

"Was where I grew up."

"How old was _she_?"

He scratched his chin. "Older."

She didn't press him for a detailed answer. "I was 17. He was 18. We were seniors in high school. And it took a _lot_ of Southern Comfort to get me in the mood."

Daryl gritted his teeth.

"It wasn't like _that_ ," she said. "He was my boyfriend. My first real boyfriend. We'd been dating six months. I wanted to, I was just too inhibited."

"What happened to 'em?"

"He went away to college three months later. I didn't. He said we should see other people. That was that."

"Idiot," Daryl muttered.

She smiled at him, put a hand on his cheek, and leaned in. He took the hint and met her halfway. The kiss was gentle and then intense, soft and then consuming. When at last their lips parted, Carol caught her breath before leaning back against him, her head on his bare shoulder. Daryl wrapped an arm around her waist and let his hand settle on her hip. His chin he rested on her head.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought, sitting up in bed, against the strong pillow of his chest. But she didn't want to fall asleep. She didn't want the night to slip away from them.

Carol thought of telling him that Nadia had given her the green light, had told her she could _resume sexual relations_. Not that there was anything to _resume_. But she didn't tell him. She was afraid to tell him. It was one thing to joke about sex. It was another to offer it sincerely, to put herself out there like that. "What else did you like to read as a boy?"

"Dunno," he muttered.

"Come on, tell me. Tell me more about little Daryl."

"Little Daryl was a little shit."

"Not always, though," she speculated.

He was silent. She thought she better drop the effort to get him to talk about his childhood, but just when she was about to change the subject, he said, "Had this teacher, 6th grade. Mr. Connor. Kept givin' me books. Not lendin' 'em, givin' 'em. I never knew why. Merle said he was a perv and he was tryin' to groom me. I used the pages for toilet paper at first, when I's campin'. But one day...started readin' one. _Call of the Wild_." He shrugged. "Liked it. But I had to hide 'em under my mattress. Merle'd make fun if he caught me readin'. Daddy'd do worse."

"Your father actually beat your for reading?"

"Not for readin'. For bein' uppity. For puttin' on airs. For thinkin' I's better than him."

"You _were_ better than him."

Daryl shifted his head, so now his cheek rather than chin was pressed against her hair. "Ya tired?"

Carol thought maybe he just didn't want to talk anymore. He'd probably used a week's worth of words tonight. "I could sleep," she said. "Want to spoon with me?"

"Do what now?"

"You know, like two spoons in a drawer. The way we were lying in that sleeping bag when I almost died of hypothermia."

"Oh," he said. "Thought you was talkin' 'bout some kinky sex thing."

She snorted. "Stop it."

Daryl's eyes were smiling. He kissed her cheek and slid his arm away so she could get settled. Daryl reached over her and turned off the lamp. She scooted down until her head was on the pillow and she was lying on her good side.

He slid down next to her, and she felt the warmth of his body press to hers. His strong arm rested reassuringly across her abdomen, immediately below the sling.

Comfortable and content, Carol closed her eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

Carol awoke to the feel of Daryl's fingertips lightly grazing her bare stomach. Her jersey had ridden up in the night, and it was now bunched above her navel and beneath her sling. She wasn't even sure if Daryl was fully awake. She shifted back slightly and felt his erection pressing against the small of her back. He shifted away as if embarrassed. She didn't want him to think she was offended, and, almost instinctively, she pushed back again, this time pressing her bottom firmly against his hard-on.

Daryl hissed. He didn't try to shift away again. He lay there, still as a stone, as though waiting for some sign from her. She thought about slipping away from him, about sliding out of bed and getting dressed, but instead she decided to take the risk of giving him that sign.

Carol moved her hips up and down slightly, sliding over the bulge in his boxers. Daryl groaned, and then he pushed forward against her. He began to rub gently, with barely perceivable movements, against her silk panties. He kissed the flesh where her shoulder met her neck, above the bandage, and she murmured her approval. His kisses turned to suckling, and she moaned at his gentle assault on her neck.

She was glad her back was to him and that she was still partially clothed. She felt less exposed this way, bolder herself. Carol covered his hand on her abdomen and slid it down on top of her panties. She opened her legs slightly, so she could press his hand between them. She began to move against their joined hands, seeking some relief for the burning sensation that was overtaking her.

When he slid his hand out from beneath hers, she was suddenly mortified by her own brazenness in guiding him there. Then she realized he was only moving his hand lower so that he could slip a finger beneath the lacy edge of her panties. First one, and then another. She moaned softly as he began to move those fingers in the most intimate of ways.

It happened in silence, except for the husky sound of his breathing in her ear. Daryl spoke not a word as he played with her.

[*]

 _Jesus H. Christ._ He was touching her. Between her legs. Underneath those damn soft, sexy, silky panties of hers. And she wasn't pulling away. Carol wasn't laughing about it. She was _liking_ it. She _wanted_ it. She was beautifully wet beneath his fingertips.

And she was whimpering, too, ever so softly, like a kitten almost. That sound made him want to roll her on her back, tear off those panties, and screw her hard. But he could tell that wasn't how she wanted it. Besides, there were her injuries to worry about - not just from the gunshot, and not just from the fall - but from Ed. One wrong move, and he'd hit some wound or another - the recent physical one, or the old emotional one.

The taste of her flesh was salty and sweet as he nipped at her bare neck. He suckled his way up and then lightly grazed her earlobe with his teeth. That made her gasp, and her gasp turned him on even more, but what really excited him was the way she was now beginning to circle her hips and move faster and faster around his fingers...

And damn all those little sounds she was making...Those sounds alone were almost enough to do him in, so he was glad when she clinched around his fingers, shuddered, and then whispered his name. He'd never heard a woman say his name like _that_ before, with such soft pleasure.

She breathed in and out, still trembling in his arms. He'd done it. He'd made her cum. Not the way he had wanted too, but at least he had. And he was still hard. Achingly so.

He slipped his fingers out of her panties, moved his hand to the waistband, and began to slide them down. He paused, waiting to see if she'd tell him to stop, but she didn't. Carol bent her knees so he could reach to slide them all the way down and off her ankles before she straightened her legs again. He ran the palm of his hand up one lean leg and over her firm ass, kneading each cheek as he kissed the back of her neck.

Daryl trailed kisses up to her earlobe, nibbled it lightly, and then plunged his tongue inside her ear, the way he wanted to plunge his erection inside of her. Carol groaned. She began to shift her hips again, tortuously rubbing against him. He pulled back, and with one hand, freed himself from his boxers. When she pressed back this time, it was bare flesh against bare flesh. She lifted one leg and wrapped it back, which would give him perfect access to enter her awaiting wetness from behind.

"You want?" He had trouble getting the question out. It fell, dry and gravelly, from his lips.

"I want," she murmured.

With a low groan, he pushed slowly inside and knew instantly he wasn't going to last long. She was getting excited again, he could tell, moving as he moved, her breath growing raspier, and he tried, with all his power, to hold out, to think of something other than the sweet sound of her pleasure, or the feel of her around him, or of himself inside her, but he couldn't...he just couldn't think of a damn thing other than how good she felt.

Daryl exploded, muttering, in one long string, _OhSweetCarolGoddamnGoodGirl..._

[*]

Carol had been pushed onto her splint that final time he'd thrust into her, and now she grunted from the pain.

Daryl rolled quickly off her, onto his back. "Hurt you?" he asked, the alarm clear in his voice even through his recovering breaths.

"I just rolled on the splint a little. Just for a second. It's fine." She rolled on her back, settling her head on his shoulder. With her free hand, she pulled down the jersey to cover herself. He'd only raised it as far as her sling, but, no longer caught up in the moment, she felt suddenly shy.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"I'm fine. It's fine now."

"That weren't any good for you."

She laughed. What was he talking about? His touch was fantastic, better than she'd imagined. The ripples of her orgasm had coursed through her for a long time after he'd slipped his fingers away. "You didn't feel me..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word _cum_. "When you were touching me, you didn't feel it?"

"Yeah, but, not when I's in ya."

"I don't care about that. I already got mine." Ed had never much cared whether she came or not. He certainly hadn't adopted a ladies' first policy. "It's been a long time," she said. "For _both_ of us." She wanted him to know she hadn't done that with Tobin.

"So it was a'right for ya?" he asked, daring to look back. "Even though I..."

"We'll both last longer next time."

[*]

 _Next time._ Daryl liked the sound of those two words. She still wanted him, even after that sad performance. She still - "Shit!" he muttered.

"What?" Carol lifted her head slightly from his shoulder.

"Forgot to pull out." He flushed red when he considered that there hadn't been _time_ to pull out.

She lowered her head back on his shoulder and laughed. "Daryl, it's unlikely I'm going to get pregnant at my age."

He felt a strong sense of relief, mingled with a completely unexpected tinge of disappointment. "That's what I told Michonne."

"Why were you talking to Michonne about that?"

"Uh..."

Carol chuckled. "Was she giving you a hard time? About catching us in the greenhouse?"

"Yeah."

"She was teasing you. I mean, I guess, technically, I could still get pregnant, but fertility seriously declines after forty. And I was never that fertile to being with. It took me four years to get pregnant with Sophia, and I never managed to get pregnant again after her."

Daryl gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think about Ed having sex with her.

"And now I'm just an old lady."

"Hell you are!"

"I'm a cougar," she said, half smiling. "With a virile, strapping, young man in my bed."

"I ain't young neither."

"How old are you anyway?" she asked.

"Don't worry. I's legal."

She laughed.

"C'mon. I ain't more than five years younger than you."

Carol adjusted her sling and shifted against Daryl's chest, settling more fully against him. "Any other reason we should have used a condom?" she asked.

"That was Merle had the clap!" he said defensively. "Not me!"

"I just don't know your history," Carol said softly. "Thought I should ask."

"Think I'd hurt you like that? If I knew I had somethin'?"

"No."

"I used condoms." He had to. God knew what those women might have had. He wasn't going to be a _complete_ dumb ass like Merle. He'd only been a _little bit_ of a dumb ass.

"You aren't going to ask me the same thing?"

He peered at her. "It was just Ed. Weren't it? And that other idiot from high school?"

"I told you about Ed. How often he cheated."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that.

"But I wouldn't hurt you like that either," she said. "I got checked every year, because I didn't know where he'd been. I'm clean. If he had known I got those tests..." She shook her head.

Daryl tensed beneath her.

"Sorry," she said. "You don't like me to talk about Ed."

Daryl shifted his chin from her head and leaned in to kiss her. He let a hand rest on one of her breasts, just above her sling. Through the thick jersey, he cupped it. He had just begun to squeeze gently when there was a knock on the door.

"The hell?" Daryl muttered.

"You want to hide under the bed?" Carol asked with a smile.

He rolled out of bed and pulled on his pants. "Nah. I want to kill whoever's knockin." He strode over and jerked the door open halfway, so that his body was in the opening and blocking any view of Carol in the bed. He leaned one arm up against the door frame, and with his other hand he held the knob.

The ex-monk stood in the hallway, an eager look on his face.

"You better have a damn good reason for knockin' at this hour."

"It's after ten," Lawrence said.

"Oh." Daryl hadn't realized they'd slept so late. "Well, then a damn good reason for knockin' at all."

"I do." He grinned. "Karen won the election."

"That's why yer knockin'?"

"No. That's just the morning news. I have a question."

"Better be a damn good question," Daryl said.

"Will you be my best man?"

"What?"

"At the wedding?"

"Gettin' married?" That seemed extremely sudden to Daryl. And besides, no one had _weddings_ in this world. They got _married_ , but they didn't have _weddings_. Glenn had put a ring on Maggie's finger, but it wasn't as if Herschel had walked her down an aisle. "Didn't even know y'all was..."

"Yes, well, we are. And she said yes."

"Nadia?" Daryl asked.

"Of course Nadia!"

"Must of been a hell of a night last night."

"Yes," Lawrence said, "though, perhaps not in the way that you mean."

"Hell you want me to be best man for?"

"It might be awkward to ask one of the monks. It would put the unlucky fellow in the position of appearing to support my choice to abandon my vows."

"But why _me_?"

"I'd like to see you in a black tie."

Daryl glared at him, not sure if he was serious.

"I'm deadly earnest," Lawrence told him. "I'm wondering if you'll do me the honor."

"Damn, man, dunno how to do that shit!"

"It's not exceedingly complicated. You stand next to me. You hand me the ring when the time comes." Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Daryl shrugged, confused and a bit intimidated by the request, but not knowing how to turn him down. "I guess. If'n ya need me to."

"I don't _need_ you to. I _want_ you to."

"A'right. I ain't wearin' a damn tie though."

"Well, you should. It'll drive Carol wild. Every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man." He winked. "I'll make myself scarce now. Sorry to interrupt your...liaison."

Daryl was shaking his head when he shut the door. He turned around, eager to resume the foreplay. But Carol was already standing up and buttoning her pants beneath the jersey. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Just the damn monk."

"Ex-monk. What did he want?"

"Why ya gettin' dressed?"

"It's after 10. I was supposed to be at the pantry at 9:30. We're reorganizing."

Daryl sighed in a low, disappointed grunt. "A'right. I'll go get some coffee started for ya."


	36. Chapter 36

Nadia pressed against the site of the wound with two fingers. "Does that hurt?"

"Well it doesn't feel good!" Carol was sitting on the exam table in the infirmary.

"On a scale of 1 to 10?" the doctor asked.

"With a 10 being..."

"What it felt like when you got shot."

"Four or five when you press on it like that. One, usually."

"Good," Nadia said. "Be sure to keep the area clean." The doctor examined her arm next. "No swelling. It's looking good."

"So when can I get this horrendous splint off?"

"Soon. But I'll want you in the sling for another two months after that."

Carol slid off the table and began rebuttoning her shirt.

"Did Daryl tell you?" the doctor asked, swinging her stethoscope off her neck and sliding it into her lab coat pocket.

"Tell me what?"

"That Lawrence and I are getting married."

Carol blinked. "What? When and how did this happen?"

Nadia smiled. "Last night, he got down on one knee, like the silly man that he is, and he proposed. And I'm standing there, ready to tell him he doesn't really know what he wants, when I thought...Why not?"

"What changed your mind?"

"Before I met Lawrence, I stopped imagining I would ever get married. I was set in my ways and uninterested in compromising with a man. But I've come to realize...Lawrence isn't going to hold me back from anything. It's such a limited world now, anyway. It's not as if we'll ever have to bicker over whose job takes precedence or where we should live. I don't know if he loves me as much as he imagines he does, but I do know he'll be there. And this world...it can be a lonely place, can't it?"

Carol nodded, though she thought the old world could be a lonely place too. She'd never felt lonelier than when she was with Ed. "So, when you say you're _getting_ married...are you having an actual wedding?"

Nadia nodded. "Ceremony is very important to Lawrence. And, well..." she shrugged. "I'd like it too."

"Have you set a date?" It seemed odd to Carol, to be asking these questions, in this world - as though normalcy might now be possible.

"Lawrence is in a hurry," Nadia said. "He wants it to be in a few days. But I want to wait until the outdoor sanctuary is built and the weather warms, so we can have an outdoor wedding. So...three or four weeks."

"That's not typical," Carol said, "for the man to be the one who's eager to get married."

"Well, he's not a monk anymore, but he's still a devout Catholic," she said. "So...he sees marriage as a precursor to sex."

"Ah." Carol chuckled.

"I told him that after being celibate for over four decades, another four weeks wouldn't kill him." She went to the sink to wash her hands, and, while she did, asked, "Would you consider being my maid of honor?"

Carol was surprised by the request, but then she considered that Nadia was not particularly close to the other female refugees from the monastery camp. She was just a professional to the townies. "I'd be honored."

"Thank you." She shook her hands and then dried them. "And Daryl's going to be Lawrence's best man, so..."

"He _is_?"

"Daryl's not the most communicative man, is he?"

Carol shook her head slowly.

"Perhaps you've been distracting him, too?" she asked with a sly smile, and Carol blushed. "Remember to be careful about that. You can't be putting weight on that arm."

"We will," Carol hastened to assure her. She didn't want Nadia to pull out the _Kama Sutra._

This morning with Daryl had felt fantastic, but Carol still felt insecure about her body. She'd overcome so much of her timidness since Ed died. She didn't know why she couldn't seem to overcome this. But it had been easier, not having to look in Daryl's eyes while they had sex, not having to be completely exposed before him. And Carol was almost grateful for Lawrence's interruption this morning. She had needed to step away from the avalanche of feelings within her.

[*]

As Carol was leaving the infirmary, Maggie was walking in, a hand over her protruding belly.

"How long do you have?" Carol asked her.

"A few more weeks, the doctor thinks," she said.

"Well I'm going to knit something for the baby," Carol insisted, and wondered if Daryl would scoff if he heard her say that.

But the truth was, she actually _did_ want to knit something for the baby. While married to Ed, she'd always done the domestic chores with a fear that any imperfection might ignite his unpredictable anger. And she'd played house when they first moved into Alexandria, doing domestic chores only to fit in and hide her true capabilities from the townies, but now...now she wasn't so sure she was playing house anymore. She was beginning to think she _liked_ these quiet chores, this simple work to feed and clothe those she loved, to make their lives a little better in a world that could come crashing down around them all at any moment.

"Could you make Baby H a blanket, maybe?" Maggie asked with a sweet smile.

"Baby H?" Carol asked. "You've decided on a name?"

"Hershel if it's a boy," Maggie said, "and Hannah if it's a girl."

"What a beautiful way to honor your father," Carol told her. "Any special meaning to Hannah?"

Maggie drew in a shaky breath and sucked in her bottom lip. She swallowed and said, "That was Beth's middle name."

Carol tried not to feel it - the pain of too many people lost. "It's a beautiful name," she said, and touched Maggie's shoulder lightly as she walked out of the infirmary.

On the way to her next task, Carol passed the archery range and waved to Daryl, who had just finished pulling arrows out of a target and had turned back to the line of five students he was teaching. He nodded to Carol as he handed the arrows back to Enid and then hollered, "Johnny, boy, yer up!"

Jonathan loaded his youth crossbow.

Carol could feel Daryl's eyes follow her as she walked on.

[*]

Carol and Sofie were situating the cage around a tomato plant when Carol felt the tinkling breeze. She turned to see Ethan and Daryl entering the greenhouse. Ethan held up a string of four catfish.

"Nice," Sofie said. "Are those for your house or ours?"

"Both," Ethan told her. "Daryl caught three and I caught one. Damn hard to do in winter!"

"Damn it, boy," Daryl said, "I told you not to say damn. Yer mama don't like it."

Ethan held the catfish at arm's length, pushing them toward Sofie. "Just wanted to show you mine."

Carol drowned a snort with her hand.

"Want to watch me scale 'em?" Ethan asked.

"Sounds gross," the girl said.

"Ain't grosser than stabbing a walker," the boy assured her.

"Go on," Carol told her. "And you season them when he's done. I'll fry them up for our two houses tonight."

Sofie followed Ethan out of the greenhouse.

Daryl wandered over to where Carol was planting and nodded to the cage, as though to ask what it was.

"I promised you fried green tomatoes, and that's what you're going to get," she told him.

He made a satisfied _mhmh_ sound, deep in his throat. He looked down at the spray of green between the wires. "After my evenin' shift on the wall..." he trailed off.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Uh...are ya gonna maybe want me to stop by?"

"Maybe," she teased. She caught the insecure look in his eyes. "Yes," she told him directly, even though it was easier to joke. "I'd like you to."

He did that nod of his, the one he made when he was pleased with himself. "A'right then. Best go help scale them fish. Ethan'll cut half the flesh off if I ain't supervisin'." He slipped from the greenhouse, throwing one parting glance at her over his shoulder.

[*]

Daryl came to Carol's bed with a greater expectation of sex than he had the night before. He stripped down to his boxers while she watched. She was wearing that jersey again and, he assumed, nothing but panties beneath. The thought excited him.

He didn't know what to say when he climbed in and sat up against the headboard, so he just turned and kissed her. Daryl relished the feel of her mouth against his, the feminine softness of her lips, the sweet taste of her tongue. She pulled away and asked him to turn off the lamp. He didn't argue with her, even though he wanted to keep it on - wanted to see all of her. He clicked it off, and they resumed kissing.

Eventually, Daryl began to slide her jersey up, eager to feel her breasts beneath his fingertips, but she pulled it back down. He was confused and disappointed by the denial, but he didn't question her. Besides, she was shimmying out of her underwear now, so she clearly wasn't saying no to sex. He watched her curiously as she drew the panties out from underneath the blanket and flung them on the floor.

Carol glanced down at her sling and asked, "How do you want to do this? We can't put weight on the arm when we...you know. So you can't be on top...I guess...can you?"

Did that mean she _wanted_ him on top? "Can if ya want. Hold myself up with my arms. Stay off it."

"You might fall, especially when you... _you know_." She blushed, her cheeks rosy in the moonlight. Carol had been so courageous for so long that he sometimes forgot what a tender, timid nature wove itself within the layers of her strength - the velvet between the plates of steel - and he loved her for it. It made him want to be her protector, to be tender in return, to sand down some of the rough, angry edges the world had hewn in him.

Carol bit her bottom lip and looked at him. Her eyes caught the starlight and twinkled. Goddamn but she was beautiful. He was so afraid of losing it the second he was in her. "How's 'bout I take care of you first?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

Daryl lowered her gently onto her back and pushed the fabric of her jersey up just a little, until it was bunched below her sling. "I wanna taste you."

[*]

"Only whores want that," Ed had told Carol once. "Remember? It's _your_ job to please _me_."

Maybe that was why she hadn't been expecting Daryl's suggestion, and why she remained in semi-stunned silence as his head disappeared under the covers.

The blanket rolled like the ocean as he scooted his way down. She didn't have time to think. She gripped the sheets with her one free hand when he gently eased her legs open and kissed her inner thigh. She balled those sheets into her fist like she was clinging to a lifeline when he began working his way toward her core. And when his tongue touched her, she gasped, whimpered his name, and closed her eyes. Carol let the waves of pleasure slowly mount, crest, and crash over her.

[*]

"Ya a'right?" Daryl asked. She hadn't made a lot of noise when he was doing it, other than those sweet little gasps and sighs and whimpers that drove him wild, but she sure had trembled afterward. She was _still_ trembling, as she lay on her back and he on his side, an arm draped around her waist and his head on the pillow beside hers.

"Uh-huh," she breathed, barely nodding. She took in a few deep breaths. "Thank you."

He let out one short, rough laugh. "Nah. Thank you."

"I didn't know it felt so good."

"Thought I'd be bad at it?" He knew he'd screwed up last night, cumming in a flash like that, but she could give him a little credit.

"I mean...I never...no one ever..."

"What? _Never_?"

She swallowed.

"You sayin' _I'm_ the first man ever done that for ya?"

She nodded.

"Damn." He rolled onto his back beside her and felt his chest swell a little bit. That wasn't the only thing that was swelling.

"It's probably wasn't that enjoyable for you, though." She said it like she thought it must have been a chore for him. What had that shit husband of hers told her?

He took her free hand and slipped it into his boxers and pressed it against his erection. "That's what doing' that to ya does to me," he said. "Still think I weren't enjoyin' it?"

She wrapped her hand around him and he groaned. She slid it up and down over his hardened shaft and asked, "Is this what you want, Daryl?"

He wanted to be inside her, but he would gladly take this. Right now, he would gladly take anything. Some strangled sound escaped his lips. It wasn't words, exactly, but she must have taken it for a yes, because she began to work that soft hand over him, like she was doing magic.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of something other than her touch. He managed to hold out longer than he had the previous night, but when she turned her face toward him and raked her teeth over his earlobe, even while she was stroking him, he lost it with a sudden cry of "A _hhhh...good, good girl, Carol...daaaamn..._ "

She slid her hand out of his boxers. Then they both lay there, on their backs, heads on their pillows, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the ceiling, not speaking.

"Should change my drawers," he said finally.

"And I should probably wash my hand."

They both snickered like teenagers.


	37. Chapter 37

Daryl joined Rick on his back porch. He'd promised to share the last third of the bottle of bourbon he'd been keeping in his clothes drawer since the first run to Cabela's. A hell of a lot had changed since that day. Carol now had a daughter of sorts, in Sofie. The monk was a monk no more and was about to get hitched, and Daryl...well, Daryl had Carol now, in a way he'd never let himself dream of having her.

It was fifty degrees tonight as they sat on the rocking chairs on Rick's back porch, a torch planted in the ground on either side of the stairs, casting a flickering glow on their faces. "So Carol lets you out of the house to hang with your ol' buddy?" Rick asked.

Daryl poured a little bourbon in each of two whiskey glasses. "I ain't got to ask for permission like you."

"Karen's really jumped in running," Rick observed, "on the Council."

"Got some good ideas," Daryl agreed.

"So..." Rick asked. "Are you and Carol shacking up now or what?"

"Been in the same house since we took in the monastery refugees."

"You know what I mean. Are you two... _you know_...getting it on?"

Daryl sipped again and rolled the bourbon on his tongue before swallowing. "Why, you got money ridin' on it?"

"You know Michonne was joking about the pool, don't you? There is no pool. No one was betting on you two getting together. We all always assumed you _were_ together. _Somehow_. And that it didn't matter _how_. Just mattered that you were." They drank in silence for awhile, until Rick said, "Lawrence screwed it up for me, asking Nadia to marry him. Now I'd just look like a copycat if I popped the question."

"Well, 'Chonne won't mind if'n ya don't. She ain't never been married. Didn't even marry her baby daddy."

"And how do you know that?"

"Spent a lot of time with her when we was searchin' for the gov'ner. Ya know that."

Rick was silent and a little sullen.

"Swear, Rick, man, we only played strip poker the once. Was a long night."

"Screw you," Rick said.

Daryl laughed behind closed-lips. "She sucks at bluffin'."

Rick reached between their two rocking chairs and drew a line in the air. "Don't cross that line."

Daryl squinted at the air between them. "I'll try, but it's hard to see."

Rick changed the subject. "You ever been anyone's best man before?"

Daryl shook his head. "Wish Lawrence hadn't asked. Ain't got a damn idea what to do."

"It's not that hard. I've done it twice."

"Ain't never even been to a weddin'," he said. "Might of, if Merle had married that one girl." Merle had been thinking about it, Daryl knew, because the girl had started hinting she wasn't going to stay with him if he didn't put a ring on it, and Merle really did like her. He'd been with her ten months, which was four months longer than he'd ever been with any other girlfriend. "But she went and got arrested for distribution. Merle thought it best to keep his distance."

Rick chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"You just reminded me of that time you tried to fight me and Shane, and you told him chokeholds are illegal."

"Hey, I know my rights," Daryl said.

"Every punk does. I would have despised you in the old world."

"For awhile, ya despised me in _this_ one."

"And you me," Rick reminded him.

"Well, y'all did force my brother to cut off his own hand. And all we ever did was hunt for the group and feed it."

"That wasn't all Merle ever did. He called T-Dog a...you know what, beat the shit out of him, put a gun in his face, turned that gun on everyone else, and insisted he was in charge. What was I supposed to do?"

Daryl hadn't known all the details until now. He felt a little sick, to think of his brother acting like that, but he knew it wasn't unlikely. He'd seen Merle in enough bar fights - backed him up in enough bar fights - to know how easily he could fly off the handle. "He weren't gonna kill nobody though."

"How in the hell could I know that?"

"Couldn't," Daryl admitted. "Don't matter nohow. Merle's dead. And you ain't the one that killed 'em."

"He sacrificed himself in the end," Rick said. "He gave us all a fighting chance."

"Yeah." Daryl drained his glass of bourbon and poured himself a little more. He didn't want to talk about Merle. "Shane had a mean chokehold, too. Bet he was a real asshole cop. Bet you were always havin' to cover his ass with the brass."

"He wasn't too bad, all in all. Shane was a good friend. I mean, except for that part where he fucked my wife and then tried to kill me."

Daryl had just taken a small sip, and he nearly spit the bourbon out of his mouth. He swallowed it hard, and it burned in his throat. But when it was all the way down, he laughed. "Sorry, man," he said. "That weren't funny."

"Gotta laugh to keep from crying," Rick told him. He sighed. "I worry about Judith growing up in this world."

"Guess ya worry 'bout 'em growin' up in any world. Less'n yer a shit parent." Daryl's parents never seemed to worry about him much, even when he was gone for days.

"I worry about Carl, too," Rick said. "He's becoming a man, and he's only sixteen."

"Gotta be a man by sixteen here," Daryl said.

"Guess _you_ were before then, even in the old world," Rick told him.

Daryl didn't reply. Carol didn't think so. She didn't even think he was a man when this whole damn thing started. She'd told him he'd changed when they were looking for Beth. That he'd been a kid when she met him, but he'd since become a man. He hadn't known what to think of that then, but he wondered now if that was when she started to like him, not like a teasing friend, but like a woman likes a man. Suddenly, he wanted very much to be back at the house with her, even if he wasn't getting any. He drained his glass. "Gotta get," he said. "Keep the last two ounces."

When he got home, though, it was later than he realized. Her bedroom door was shut, and there was no light seeping through it. He whispered her name at it, but he didn't hear anything, so he just went to bed in his own room.

[*]

 _Will Dixon cursed and threw a beer bottle straight over Daryl's head. It slammed against the wall. The brown glass shattered, and the liquid spewed out. A four-year-old Daryl burst into tears. "Mamma!" he yelled, wondering when his mamma was gonna come out of that bedroom she'd been in all evening, wondering when she was going to gather him up in her arms and tell him everything would be all right._

 _"Quit yer cryin' you pansy ass weaklin'!" his father yelled._

 _Daryl was blinking back his tears, trying desperately to stop them, when his eleven-year-old brother squatted down right in front of him, his hands on Daryl's shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. "Let's play hide and seek, little brother. Yeah? you go run and hide. Out in the woods. I'll find ya." And then Merle pushed Daryl toward the door, drew himself up, and turned to face their father. "One," Merle counted, "two...you better hide, little brother...three..."_

 _Daryl flung open the door, ran deep into the woods,_ _waded through a muddy stream, and found an alcove under a tree by the shore, but when he tried to crawl inside, there was a little girl there. Daryl stared with surprise into her blue-green eyes, and her face began to morph into that of a rotting corpse. He fell backwards on his ass. Daryl began to walk, crablike, back through the stream, looking in horror at the undead girl. But then her face turned again, back into that scared little girl, and she pleaded with him, "Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" But he did. He turned and stumbled and ran, up another bank, farther into the woods, until his foot got caught up in a necklace of human ears. Daryl stumbled and fell into a trap dug in the forest floor, but the trap became a well, the well at Hershel's farm, and he fell through pitch blackness, down, down, down..._

Daryl awoke suddenly, his entire body jerking against the bed, as though he'd just hit it, hard, from above. He sat up with a gasp and lay a bare hand down on the sheets, which were damp with his own sweat.

[*]

There was coffee sitting in the French press on the kitchen counter. The ex-monk was on the back porch, praying. The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the railing with flickering rays of light. Daryl eased through the screen door, closed it softly, and sat down in the rocking chair, cup in hand. He sipped and waited.

At length, Lawrence rose and sat in the rocking chair next to his. "Bring me any?"

"Thought you had some already." He extended his cup. Lawrence raised his hand and shook his head. Daryl went back to sipping.

"Weather's warming," Lawrence said. "Not long before spring. And my wedding."

"Mhmh."

"What brings you out here?"

Daryl looked into the cup. "Weird dreams."

"They say that God speaks to us in dreams."

"Then God don't make no damn sense."

"Your weird dream...it's made you think, though, hasn't it? About something?"

About far too many things. Daryl breathed in the morning air. The bitter smell of coffee wafted to his nostrils. He sipped. "When I look back...think maybe my brother took my daddy's blows for me. 'Til that first time he went to juvie." Daryl had been six that year Merle was convicted for aggravated assault. That was also the same year their father started whipping Daryl, the very day after Merle was gone. Daryl ran a hand over his dry lips. "Used to blame him for leavin' me alone with that man, popping in and out of juvie and then finally signin' up. Never thought he might have got tired of takin' both our licks." He sighed. He sipped. And then he said, "I miss 'em. I miss my brother."

"I miss my sister," Lawrence said.

"Younger or older?"

"We're twins. _Were_ twins. I don't know. Maybe she's still alive. Maybe she made it to D.C., and maybe she made it out again before they burned it."

Daryl didn't tell him how unlikely he thought that was.

"But I guess she and her family would have tried to make it back to the monastery, if she had."

"Why didn't they come with ya in the first place?"

"They'd heard there was a vaccination in D.C. I tried to talk her out of it. The world was collapsing. We couldn't rely on the gods of government. I thought, for a moment, it was Armageddon."

"But ya don't think that anymore?"

"I wonder sometimes if we're in purgatory." The screen door opened and Nadia stepped out. Lawrence glanced at her. "But I'm working my way out and up to heaven."

"What's this about heaven?" she asked.

Lawrence smiled. "I said you look heavenly this morning."

"In my doctor's smock?"

"It becomes you."

She laughed and bent to kiss him, quickly, on the lips. "Lower your expectations," she told him. "I hear it's the key to happiness in marriage. And I'm no angel."

"If woman lost us Eden, my dear," Lawrence said with a smirk, "then she alone should restore it."

She patted him on the cheek, a teasing slap. "You need to take out the trash. It's burn day."

"What sort of wedding ring do you want, my love? We're going on that supply run soon."

"The usual," she said. "A simple gold band. But you might as well get me a giant rock while you're at it."

[*]

Carol peeled and chopped the garlic she'd picked in the greenhouse today. She'd already gone door to door and given each household a clove, and then recorded the distribution in the town register. She was still somewhat amazed that Alexandria had become a place of rule and order in this vast ocean of lawlessness. It was a strange thing, watching a country being born. Strange and exciting, and Carol was glad to be a part of the machinery. Ed never would have imagined her capable. He hadn't thought she was capable of holding a job outside the home, let alone being a founding mother of a new nation.

After closing the refrigerator, she opened the screen door between the kitchen and the back porch. Daryl was sitting out there, skinning something. She eased into a rocking chair and adjusted the strap on her sling so it wasn't cutting so much against her shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

He looked up from his knife. "For what?"

"For doing it on the _back_ porch this time." She smiled. "If you're not careful, I'll domesticate you."

"Ain't gonna happen." He flayed off a strip of fur.

"I'll at least make you into an indoor-outdoor Daryl."

"Pfffft."

"Is that a skunk?" she asked.

"Mhmm." He flipped over the skinless carcass and cut a slit down the center.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of it. "What's a skunk taste like?"

"Not like it smells. Not if ya cook it right."

"How should I cook it?"

"It ain't for tonight. Gotta soak it in milk first. Guess the powdered shit'll have to do." They were out of the fresh milk Jesus had brought.

"How long?"

"'Til dinner tomorrow. Roll it in flour. Season it. Fry it up good. You'll come up with somethin' tasty. Always do."

"Is it fair, that we get all this meat, and the rest of the town doesn't?" she asked.

"Dug us out a couple hibernatin' snakes, too. Ethan took 'em to his house."

"The houses with hunters eat fresh meat every day, and everyone else gets Spam or sardines twice a week?" Carol asked.

"When I get a deer, I'll share with the whole damn town. Be more to hunt in spring. Winter's slim pickin'." He poked around inside the skunk, looking for diseased organs. She knew that's what he was doing. She'd learned a thing or two from him.

"Is it clean?"

"Mhmm."

Carol rocked and looked out over the porch railing. There was a very thin dusting of snow on the ground, but it wasn't overly cold. It was at least 45 degrees, and that snow wouldn't last long. It was probably the last of the winter. "When are you going on the run to get the wedding rings?"

Daryl put his bare hand inside the skunk and yanked out its bloody organs, which he tossed unceremoniously over the porch rail, like he was throwing a baseball. "Next Wednesday. Want anythin'?"

"A pretty necklace would be nice. A pendant. I like sapphires."

"I ain't got any idea what's what."

"Let Lawrence pick me out something."

He grunted.

"Or Michonne," she said. "Tell her to pick something that matches whatever bridesmaid dress she finds for me. Where are you going?"

"Someplace near somethin' called Crystal City."

"Sounds magical," Carol said. "Like something out of _The Wizard of Oz_."

"Well I hope it ain't overrun by flying monkeys. Harder to shoot than walkers."

She chuckled. "You think it _will_ be overrun by walkers?"

"Lawrence thinks no. Says the firebombin' in D.C. burned up a lot of 'em near there."

"And what do you think?" Carol asked.

"Think Nadia's gonna end up with a Cracker Jack ring from CVS."

She laughed. "But you're going anyway?"

He looked up at her. "Ain't just about the rings. Regular supply run, too. It's my _job_ , Carol. One of 'em."

"I didn't say a word about it. I just wish I could get back out there with you." She nodded to her sling. "Do something valuable."

"What ya do here? Feedin' people? Makin' somethin' good outa next to nothin'? 's valuable."

She smiled. "Really? You don't think it's _ridiculous_?"

"Nah, no, I said that when you was pretendin' to be someone else. Wearin' that stupid sweater thing. Not cause you can _cook_."

"I do actually _like_ to cook, it's just..." Carol sighed. She needed to remind herself of her strength, of her ability to survive beyond the gates. She couldn't grow complacent. She couldn't grow soft. She couldn't let herself become dependent on any man, like she'd let herself do with Ed. The damsel in distress had nowhere to turn when the knight's armor turned out to be less than shiny. "You know me."

"Mhmhm."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not likely more 'en a night. Ain't but a few miles." He went back to working on his skunk.

Carol watched him for a moment and then asked, "Ready to play best man?"

Daryl wiped off his hands on a cloth. "Don't make no damn sense," he said.

"I know it seems strange to you, but you're probably the closest friend he has here."

"Ain't what I mean. Mean the whole damn thing. One day she ain't givin' him the time of day, next one, they's gettin' married."

"I don't know. Nadia said they'd known each other for ten years. Maybe this wedding is long overdue." Carol thought it was good for the community to see life going on in that way. A few months ago, she would have thought a formal wedding to be a sign of naivete. Now she saw it as a sign of courageous hope, as a symbol of the sort of things they were continually fighting for. "I think it's nice, that they're doing this, that they're making it formal."

Daryl said nothing to that. He cleaned his knife on the cloth he'd used to wipe his hands, running it over the blade and wetting it with blood.

"You don't think much of the whole idea, do you?" she asked.

"Just don't get the point," he said, standing and sheathing his knife.

"Of people getting married?"

He nodded.

She shrugged. Given her own horrible marriage, she supposed maybe she shouldn't get the point either, but seeing Glenn and Maggie, Lawrence and Nadia...she thought maybe she did. "It's a promise. A vow to stay together and be faithful to each other, no matter how bad this world gets. A way to celebrate that commitment with the entire community."

"Ain't worth a damn thing, all this promisin' and vowin'." He reached down and plucked up the carcass of the skunk. "A woman either stays or she don't."

"And a man?"

"Same thing. Don't matter what he _says_." He opened the screen door and disappeared into the kitchen.


	38. Chapter 38

Carol sat on the cool infirmary exam table while Nadia removed the splint piece by piece. "This doesn't mean you're healed," she warned Carol. "I'm giving you a new sling for support. Keep wearing it. It will remind you not to use the arm while it's healing fully."

Carol rubbed her arm. It felt good to be free of that contraption.

"I'm going to show you a few mild exercises," Nadia told her. "Remove the sling twice a day, and do these every morning and evening." When they were done with the exercises, and Nadia had showed her how to wear the new sling, the doctor warned, "Don't overdo it. I don't want to have to put you back in the splint."

Carol slid off the table. Nadia helped her into her jacket, a light one, as winter was on its way out. "Yours will be the first wedding we ever have in Alexandria," Carol told her.

"Yes, Lawrence is thrilled to be making history. I'm sure there will be a chapter in his book."

Carol laughed. They talked for awhile about the wedding, which had been preoccupying Carol's mind for some reason she did not fully understand, perhaps because it was such a sign of hope in this bleak world, a sign that all their lives were becoming more settled. Daryl's dismissive attitude toward the whole thing bothered her in a way she didn't quite understand either. She didn't expect him to care about such things, anymore than he cared about parties or social niceties, but it did make her wonder where she stood with him, what, exactly, she was to him. Sometimes she wished they hadn't taken their relationship further. When they were merely friends, there seemed no risk of losing him.

Carol said her goodbyes and headed to the greenhouse. On the way, she passed Michonne, who has was sitting on the stairs of her front porch and sharpening her sword with a stone. They exchanged hellos, and Michonne invited her in for a glass of wine.

"Where'd you get this?" Carol asked. "I thought all the wine rations were exhausted."

Michonne smiled. "Lawrence picked up some bottles from that winery where we spent the night. We gave two to the pantry, I squirreled one away, and I'm guessing Lawrence drank his already."

Carol wasn't sure how she felt about holding things back from the pantry, but she supposed people who risked their lives for these runs deserved an extra cut. She wasn't so sure all Alexandrians would feel the same way, however. They all contributed their particular talents - from washing to cooking to gardening to building to teaching to standing guard - all in exchange for the same cut from the communal pantry. So far, there had been very little complaint about the relative value of their various contributions, or about the size of the rations, but she wondered how long that would last. What happened if someone stopped pulling his or her weight and still expected to be fed? Or when someone demanded he or she deserved a larger share for doing more important work? How would the Council deal with that? The larger the community, and the longer it existed, the less likely communism would work.

"You don't like the wine?" Michonne asked.

Carol shook off her concerns and sipped. "No, it's good."

"It better be, given what we had to go through to get it."

Carol set her glass down. "And what was that?"

"Daryl didn't tell you?"

Carol shook her head.

"Oh. So how about Lawrence and Nadia getting married?"

Carol shot Michonne a _don't-even-try_ look. "Tell me what happened."

Michonne related the story of Cassie.

"So she just crawled into the sleeping bag with him?" Carol asked. "Just like that?"

"More or less," Michonne said. "Daryl _isn'_ t bad looking."

"I'm aware," Carol said with a slight smile.

Michonne laughed. "I mean, from a purely physical standpoint. He's not at all _my_ type."

Carol was glad Daryl didn't seem to be anyone's type but hers. At least, she had _assumed_ he wasn't. But if this young, twenty-something girl had been willing to throw herself at him...were their others who might? Hadn't Karen flirted with him at one time? Not that Daryl had been aware of that, and Karen had quickly lost interest when he'd responded monosyllabically, but...people in general were more aware of him than they had been in the beginning of all this, when Carol was the one to like him first.

Carol ran a finger up the stem of the wine glass. "Did you expect Abraham to leave Rosita for Sasha? Did you see that coming when it happened?"

"I don't think anyone expected that but Abraham," Michonne said. "And maybe Sasha."

"You just assume, in a small world like this, that people will stick with whoever they're with. But that's not necessarily what happens."

Michonne poured a little more wine in Carol's glass. "The only woman in Daryl's world," she said, "is you."

[*]

Daryl's arms slipped around her from behind, and Carol jumped, shifting the pan on the burner. A bit of oil sizzled and splashed up but then settled down again. He kissed her neck and murmured, "Smells damn good." That gravelly, masculine voice of his stirred something in her.

"Be ready soon," she told him. "You can go call the others."

"Ya kick that house guest out yet?" he asked. "'Cause I's leavin' on that run tomorrow."

He clearly wanted a goodbye tumble. Her period, which was erratic and short lived these days, had given her an excuse to take a break from the physical, but it had stopped yesterday. She'd needed that space because she was a little frightened by the intensity of her desire for him, and yet also concerned she wouldn't be able to give him all that he wanted physically. She suspected he was accustomed to sexually aggressive and experienced women, and she hadn't learned much confidence in that arena, unlike the way she'd learned, through experience, to slay walkers with courage. "You can come by tonight."

"Yeah?" His voice was close to her ear. He bent and kissed her shoulder. She let go of the pan and reached back to touch his face while he began to nibble her neck. Just as she closed her eyes, the timer beeped.

He let her go.

[*]

Tonight, as they sat up against the headboard of Carol's bed, half turned and kissing one another, Daryl began to unbutton her blouse. Carol put a hand over his hand to stop him. Ed had always criticized her breasts, told her how pathetic they were compared to those of other women, and that was a memory she couldn't shake. Her sling fell right below them. She wasn't wearing a bra. If he took off her shirt, in the light of the bedside lamp, he'd see them all too clearly.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked, letting his hand fall down to her hip.

"Nothing...I just like to leave my shirt on."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she lied.

"Wanna see you." He returned his hand to the second button of her blouse and just let it rest there.

She swallowed and nodded.

He slid the button slowly loose. He undid the next button, and then the next. She let him loosen every one, but she looked away when he pulled open her blouse. He eased it partway off her shoulders. Carol could feel the crimson creeping to her cheeks as he sat in silence sweeping his eyes over her chest. She was feeling the old need to make some excuse for herself when he muttered a single word - "Perfect."

She looked back at him and was thrilled by the way his eyes raked greedily over her. Daryl didn't touch her right away. He sat back against the headboard, spread his legs, patted the mattress between them, and said, "C'mere."

Carol slid between his legs and leaned back against his muscular chest. From behind, he cupped her breasts and began to toy lazily with them. "Beautiful," he murmured as he played. "Damn ya feel good." She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his hands and the sound of his breath growing thicker as he kneaded and stroked. When he lightly pinched one of her nipples, she whimpered.

"Ya like that?"

"Uh-huh," she breathed.

He did it again, and she bit her bottom lip to choke back the cry. The fire spread between her legs.

"Don't have to be quiet," he told her, his breath hot in her ear, his lips lightly touching her skin. "Wanna hear ya."

She flushed and tensed, reminded of how Ed had always said she was too quiet - _frigid mouse,_ he'd called her, and that had always made her want to be even _more_ quiet.

Daryl stopped fondling her breasts and put his hands on her shoulders instead. "I say somethin' wrong?"

"No. I'm just...I'm a little shy."

"We moved the bed. Nadia ain't gonna hear."

"It's not that."

"What then?" he asked.

"I just...I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I'm too quiet for you."

He kissed the top of her head. "Quiet ain't never bothered me none. World could use more quiet."

"But you said - "

"- Just want ya to know ya ain't got to hold back." He shifted his head to kiss her ear, where he whispered, "Yer safe with me, Carol."

She shivered. She took one of his hands and put it back on a breast. "Touch me," she told him, and this time, when he pinched, and the pleasure shot through her, she didn't bite down on the sound.

[*]

Daryl gripped Carol's hips tightly to keep her steady as she straddled him, his thumbs making light red marks on her flesh. She had her knees on the bed, and she was moving her hips in slow, hard circles. He closed his eyes, because the sight of her breasts moving as she moved was about to undo him.

Desperate to distract himself from the urge to tumble over the edge, he disassembled a gun in his mind. Then he reassembled it. He started to disassemble it again, but it vanished, the image scattered into particles when Carol moaned his name.

His restraint snapped. There was nothing now to keep his thoughts off the sound and feel of her. They climaxed together, in a collision of waves that left him reeling from the force.

Later, Carol spooned back against him, her now completely naked body pressed to his. Well, _almost_ completely - the sling was still there. In the afterglow of sex, Daryl felt incredibly sleepy, and he was blissfully sliding off into some no man's land when she started talking.

He clawed himself awake.

"I wish I could go with you tomorrow to pick my own dress for Nadia's wedding, but I told Michonne my size."

"Mhmmm."

"I guess it's good I've been growing some flowers in the greenhouse after all. Nadia's going to need a boquet."

"Mhmhm."

"Nadia said Father Gabriel's going to perform the marriage because Lawrence doesn't want to ask one of the monks to do it, given that he renounced his vows for her."

"Mhmhmm."

"You're tired of me talking, aren't you?"

"Like yer voice."

She chuckled. "You just know this is the price you have to pay for getting laid."

He kissed the back of her neck. "'S a bargain."

She rolled a little on her back and looked right at him, which meant he had to keep his eyes all the way open. "I talked to Michonne," Carol said. "She told me an interesting story about what happened to you in that winery near Waynesboro."

Daryl didn't say a word, but he was suddenly more awake.

"Was she pretty? Cassie?"

"I ain't gonna answer that. All you got to know is I ain't touched her. Told her I had a woman."

"Is that how you think of me?" She was searching his eyes. "As your woman?"

Why was she asking that? Was she _bothered_ that he'd said it? Did she not want to _be_ his woman? But she _was_ now, finally, after all these months of quiet wanting. Wasn't she? He felt a sudden sinking sensation in his gut. _"_ Well, what the hell are we doin' if you ain't my woman?"

"It wasn't a complaint. It was just a clarification."

"Fuck is there to clarify?" he muttered. "You ain't...you ain't interested in anyone else. Are ya?"

"No." There was an affectionate laughter in her tone. "I _like_ being your woman, Daryl."

The relief began to sleep slowly through his tense muscles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, and kissed his cheek before rolling back on her side. "I do."

He spooned up closely against her. "Good."

She was talking about the wedding again when he fell asleep.


	39. Chapter 39

"We ain't takin' a goddamn Prius," Daryl insisted.

"But the mileage will be excellent," Lawrence told him.

Michonne shook her head and looked the car over.

"We ain't just goin' for your precious rings," Daryl said. "Need room for more shit. Takin' the pick-up."

Daryl strutted over toward the pick-up, and Michonne smiled at the ex-monk. "You just suggested the Prius to get a rise out of him, didn't you?"

"It amuses me," Lawrence admitted.

[*]

The sign for Route 1 swung upside down from the post, spun by some unknown force. Daryl squeezed the pick-up through the sea of abandoned cars, in the narrow stretch between the barricade and the second lane. He would be driving against traffic, if there had been moving traffic. He moved slowly, not wanting to scrape the doors, but fast enough to lose the staggering walkers who trailed after them.

"How far's this mall?" Daryl asked.

"Another three miles," Lawrence answered from where he lounged on the bench seat in the back of the pick-up.

"What are the chances it won't be overrun?" Michonne asked.

"I don't know," Lawrence replied. "I'm sure the mall was looted at some point, but, like I said, it's huge. There must be something left."

Michonne swung her feet up onto the dash and opened a magazine. "Quiz time."

"No," Daryl replied sternly.

"Come on, it's a long drive."

"It's three miles!" Daryl grumbled.

She flipped the page. "Will you be together forever?"

Daryl sighed.

"Do you feel that you could tell her anything?" Michonne asked.

"Yes," Lawrence answered.

"'Cause he can tell _anyone_ anythin'," Daryl said.

"How about you, Daryl?" Michonne asked.

He didn't answer.

"I'll circle no." She moved the pen point down to the next question. "Imagine it's Christmas. What would you buy her?"

"The moon," Lawrence said.

"Daryl?"

"Can't buy nothin' in this world."

"What would you give her, then?" Michonne asked. "Here are your choices - flowers, a necklace, a book, or a kiss?"

"Carol likes flowers." Daryl shook his head. "Wait! I ain't playin'!"

Michonne chuckled and circled flowers. Daryl eased to a stop. He threw the truck into park. "Put down the damn magazine and cover us." A car was blocking their way.

Michonne beheaded two walkers while Lawrence and Daryl pushed the empty sedan off the shoulder and back into the roadway. Daryl grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and lit up when they got back in the pick-up.

"Ever consider abandoning that habit?" Lawrence asked.

"No."

"At least roll down the window then."

Daryl cranked it down using the Dodge's old-fashioned window cranks. A cool breeze burst in. The weather was gradually turning warmer, but at their moderate speed, the air was still chilling.

"I'm cold," Michonne said. "Roll it up."

"Up, down, up down," Daryl muttered. He took three quick drags on the cigarette and then tossed it out the window. "Can't please no one." He cranked it up.

In another mile, the ex-monk leaned forward between the seats, stared out the windshield, and muttered, "What on God's green earth...?"

Daryl stopped the truck. His eyes were drawn to the herd of walkers some yards ahead of them on the road, walking perpendicular to them, and following what appeared to be two living people across a bridge spanning the Potomac River.

Michonne pulled out the binoculars for a closer look.

"They're going to get killed," Lawrence said. "Those two."

"Not our problem." Daryl began to reverse the truck.

"Stop!" Michonne demanded.

Daryl did, putting the truck back into park, but he said, "They ain't ours and we can't kill five dozen walkers!"

"No," Michonne said. " _Look_ what they're doing." She handed him the binoculars.

Daryl took them and focused in on the living pair, who looked to be two older teenagers, a boy and a girl. "They ain't runnin'," he said. "They's just...strollin'."

"They're leading them," Michonne said. "Like we did at the quarry. Look at the bridge."

Daryl turned his head slightly and looked beyond the teenagers to the bridge. Something had torn it apart, so it stood in two pieces, a gaping emptiness in between leading down to the water. He scanned back to the teenagers, who were allowing the walkers to get dangerously close to them.

"Leadin' 'em where?" Daryl asked. "It's a goddamn dead end. They got nowhere to go." That's when he saw the girl turn, run at full speed, and leap the long way over the gap to the other side of the bridge. "Holy shiiiiiit!" Then he saw the boy lead the walkers a little closer and turn, run, and make the same jump.

The two teenagers, who had come to a slow running stop on the other side of the bridge, turned and walked back to its broken edge. They faced the walkers as though offering them the lure of fresh meat. And those walkers kept coming. Michonne and Daryl watched, trading the binoculars, as the creatures crowded in against one an another in a heavy mass, thrashing their way to what they thought was food, only to plummet in large clumps off the bridge and into the river below.

"How in the hell did they make that jump?" Daryl muttered.

"Let me have the binoculars," Lawrence insisted anxiously, and Michonne handed them back. The ex-monk rolled down his window, hung out it, and watched as one final, lone walker slid off the bridge, leaving only a few confused stragglers on the other side, which had begun lurching away from the precipice. "Holy Joseph step-father of Jesus!" he exclaimed. "They may not be _our_ people, but they're _mine_."

"What do ya mean?" Daryl asked.

"It's my niece and nephew."

"What?" Michonne exclaimed.

"I was afraid they were dead, that they were killed trying to make it to D.C., or when the city was bombed."

"Are you sure it's them?" Michonne asked. "They look a little dark skinned."

Lawrence handed her the binoculars. "I don't know if you're aware of this fact or not, Michonne, but a black person and a white person" - he pressed the palms of his hands against each other as though to demonstrate the fact - "can come together."

"Yeah, I'm vaguely aware of the fact."

"Well if they's yours," Daryl said, "let's go get 'em." They each put a hand on a weapon, and Daryl began to drive slowly toward the bridge and the few remaining walkers on it.

When they got there, he squealed to a stop. They spilled out of the truck, Michonne cutting down two walkers with her sword, Daryl a few with his crossbow, and Lawrence the rest with his long bow. Daryl was surveying the damage, to make sure they'd got them all, when he heard Lawrence shout, "Winston! Put the gun down."

From the other side of the bridge, the young man holstered his handgun, made some sign to his sister, and she too holstered hers. "Uncle Laurie?" the young man called.

Michonne sheathed her sword while Daryl returned his arrows to his quiver, and the two walked to the edge of the bridge, at the precipice where the ex-monk now stood.

"Yes, it is I."

" _Must_ be you," the young man said. "No one else could possibly care about proper grammar in a zombie apocalypse."

Michonne chuckled. Daryl laughed through his nose, a snort of air, and then looked down at the river below. About a foot beneath its murky surface, he could see the shadow of the forms of the top layer of walkers, still moving. He glanced farther down the river and saw numerous bloated bodies floating, some face down, some on their backs, moving, but not able to swim. These kids had done this before - led other walkers to the watery depths, and in time, their bodies had filled with bacteria, which had produced enough gas to float them to the surface, like dead fish, except that they were still moving.

"Back up," the young man said. "We're coming across." He moved his hands before his sister, and it took Daryl a second to realized he was using sign language.

The trio walked backwards several feet, and the teenagers backed up to give themselves running distance before making the long jump. When they were on the other side, they embraced their uncle together, and there was laughter and grateful sobbing. When they all pulled apart, Lawrence asked, "I bet you're glad your mother made you stick with track and field now, aren't you?" The young lady, a brown-skinned beauty with long, dark, wavy hair and olive eyes, signed something to him, and he said, "I'll introduce you." He turned to Daryl and Michonne. "My niece is deaf and mute."

"Figured that out," Daryl replied.

"These are my friends, Daryl and Michonne" - he gestured to them and then to his niece and nephew - "and this is Winston and Victoria. They're twins. Eighteen now, I guess."

"Stone. I go by Stone."

"Since when?" his uncle asked.

"Since I decided to stop getting my ass kicked in high school." He looked from Michonne to Daryl. "And please call my sister Vicky. She _hates_ Victoria."

"Where's your camp?" Lawrence asked. "Are your parents there?"

Stone ran a hand over his short, black hair, swallowed, and shook his head.

"Is my sister alive?" Lawrence's casual voice was belied by a quiver.

"No."

Lawrence sniffed, blinked twice, bit down on his teeth, and asked, "How - "

"- We don't talk about how," Stone said. "After they died, we were in the refugee camps for awhile, but the disease kept spreading, and we heard they were going to just burn it all to the ground, the whole capitol. So we got out, camped near Crystal City for awhile, and then tried to make it back to the monastery, to you."

"But you didn't?"

"We didn't remember exactly where it was. It's not like we went there more than twice. You visited us, usually, and the couple of times Mom took us there, we weren't paying attention. It's not on any map we could find. So we just went to the general area, did a lot of wandering. Ran into this gang that called themselves the Saviors."

"We're familiar with them," Lawrence said. "They extorted the monastery. When we fought back, they burned it to the ground. But we destroyed them in the end."

"Really? All of them?"

Lawrence nodded.

"Seemed like they had a lot of people," Stone said, "and like they ran the place for miles."

"We had help."

"Well, we didn't," Stone told him, "and we didn't want to join them either. So we gave them the slip, came back here, to where where we'd made our first camp after we left D.C. It's in an underground shopping mall. We keep the whole area around the mall clear by drawing the undead, like cattle, and then making them - " He pointed down to the water below.

"It's clever," Michonne said.

"How many people in your camp?" Daryl asked.

Stone swallowed. "When we left to try to find the monastery, there were twelve others. When we came back..." He looked down and shook his head.

Vicky signed something to her uncle.

"They'd all turned," Lawrence explained to Daryl and Michonne. "But they don't know how it happened."

"This mall you camp in," Daryl said, "I guess it's still got shit?"

"Oh yeah," Stone replied. "A shitload of shit."

Michonne began to stroll toward the pick-up. "Then let's go shopping."

Stone looked at his uncle. "Women, huh? End of the world, and they still want to shop."

Michonne turned and shot him a peeved look.

"I would not cross her, were I you," Lawrence replied, putting a hand on his nephew's back and guiding him toward the pick-up. Vicky followed, and Daryl trailed silently after the crew.


	40. Chapter 40

Stone navigated them to the mall, where they stopped at a security gate. Two dead walkers lay outside it, like oil stains. Stone hopped out of the bed of the truck and used some kind of makeshift key to unlock the security gate and roll it up. He closed it after Daryl eased the pick-up inside and then hopped back into the bed.

Daryl rolled down into the underground garage and parked the pick-up near another security gate that was drawn over a glass door entrance. The sound of the truck door closing echoed when Daryl slammed it shut. He looked around the strangely empty garage. It had only a few service vehicles and three port-a-potties.

"We dragged those potties here," Stone explained, "from a construction site. We could only flush each of the mall toilets a couple times. No running water. You can piss in the mall toilets, but if you've gotta take a dump, do it out here."

"Such vulgar expressions," his uncle said.

"Yeah, well, Mom's not been around to correct me for a while." He unlocked the security gate and rolled it up.

Daryl asked, "How'd you break in all these gates?"

"My dad was a locksmith. Taught me a thing or two." Stone dropped his homemade key into the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. Then he slid the gate closed behind them once they were all in. After they stepped through the glass doors, he asked, "Ready for the grand tour?"

He and Vicky began to lead them through the mall. Some of the stores - such as the Children's Place and Victoria's Secret - appeared to be completely untouched. In fact, the gates were still down. Others were neatly looted, clearly stripped of some items, but with nothing overturned.

"We've been living off the food in the Harry & David and Rite Aide and all the non-perishable stuff in the food court kitchens," Stone told them. "Lots of bottled water spread out through here, though we're running low now. Got batteries and other power from the Radio Shack. Camp stoves from the Sears. Clothes wherever we want." Vicky smiled and signed something to him. "Yeah," he said, "we finally got to wear name brands. Mom was never willing to pay for that, you know."

"She wanted you to learn fiscal responsibility," his uncle told him.

"We camp in the mattress and bedding section of the JC Penny," Stone said. "we dragged in a fire pit from the outdoor section to keep warm at night. You guys can live here with us if you want, since the monastery's burned."

Lawrence told him about Alexandria. Stone turned to his sister and signed back and forth with her for a while. "We want to come back with you," he said. "If your people will take us."

"They will," Daryl told him. He didn't doubt the Council would agree to family.

"Two of the service trucks had keys in them," Stone said. "We can fill them up with loot and caravan back with you. Pay for our admission. And we can come back here later for more."

Daryl looked in semi-awe at the untouched stores as they continued their tour. "How in the hell was this place not looted or overrun?"

"No idea," Stone answered. "There's another mall two miles away, and it was torn up by looters and flooded with walkers, but this one... it was all closed up when our group first got here, gates down and everything. Guess it wasn't open when things got bad, and because it's underground, people couldn't just break windows to get in. Still, you'd think someone would have thought to break in the gates."

"Well, _you_ did," Michonne said.

Stone nodded and smiled.

As they walked the marbled halls of the mall, Lawrence asked, "Were the rumors true? _Did_ D.C. have a vaccine?"

"Well, they gave us some kind of shot," Stone said, "but it didn't work. People got bit and turned anyway. And now I wonder if it wasn't just a placebo, if they weren't just trying to get as many people as possible in one place and then burn them, to curb the spread. I bet the important people had already gone into hiding in underground bases by then. The government is probably still in hiding somewhere."

"Ain't no government anymore," Daryl said. "'Cept the ones we make."

[*]

The trio did a little shopping. Michonne had a field day in the Godiva, shoveling chocolate into her backpack. It looked like the teenagers and their previous camp had already eaten most of the store. Daryl grabbed a little box of four candies for Carol, though he had no idea what she liked.

"Did your camp turn _in_ the mall?" Daryl asked.

Stone nodded. "When we got back, came inside...they were lurching around. We're guessing someone died in his sleep, turned, and while the others were asleep..." He sighed. Vicky shuddered a bit, and he put a hand on his sister's shoulder and squeezed. "It's hard," Stone said. "Killing your own people. Or the shells of them, anyway. But I guess you've all done it."

"Mhmmm. Got to," Daryl muttered and tried not to think of every single person who had turned.

Lawrence asked Stone to unlock and roll up the gates around a fine jewelry store. Once they were inside, he shattered a case to select two wedding rings, as well as a diamond engagement ring. When his nephew asked him what they were for, it resulted in quite the discussion, but Daryl was too busy looking at the necklaces to pay attention. "Which one's sapphire?" he asked Michonne.

"That one," she told him, pointing at a pendent beneath a glass case. "Matches Carol's eyes."

He used the butt of the crossbow to shatter the case, but as he was reaching in for the necklace, he spied a much plainer one dangling from a stand on another counter. He approached it. No gems. Only a simple, basic silver chain. But at its base dangled a painted charm. Daryl couldn't believe his eyes - a Cherokee rose. He snagged it and smiled.

"Uh...I'd really go with the sapphire pendant instead if I were you," Michonne said.

"Nah. Carol's gonna like this better." He rustled behind the counter until he'd found a box for it, and he laid it tenderly inside.

"Trust me, Daryl, you're not the best judge of jewelry. That's cheap. It can't be worth more than $25."

"Ain't 'bout the money." He slipped the box into his pocket.

"Okay. I'm just trying to help a friend get laid."

"Ain't in need of help."

Michonne grinned. "Is that so?"

"I ain't braggin'!"

She chuckled. "I already know all about it from Carol."

"What?"

"The things you learn when you ply a woman with wine," Michonne said. "How drunk were you when you got that tattoo on your ass?"

"Tattoo's on my back, not my ass."

Michonne laughed. "I'm just kidding you. I couldn't get Carol to tell me anything no matter how hard I tried. But now I know."

"Don't you go tellin' her I was goin' round braggin' I was gettin' laid. 'Cause that ain't - "

"- Don't worry about it. My lips are sealed."

Daryl shook his head. Then he just started randomly shoving pretty necklaces in his pockets. He figured he'd parcel them out to Glenn and Abraham and whoever else wanted a gift for his woman. He could trade them for cigarettes, which had become a sort of currency in Alexandria, at least between smokers and non-smokers.

Stone leaned with one elbow atop a glass case and said, "So, Uncle Laurie, in this community you're taking us to...Are there a lot of girls?"

"Not your age," his uncle answered.

"What age _are_ they?"

"There's an 11 year old, an almost 12 year old, and a girl who's maybe 17."

"Well, that last one's my age."

Daryl's lipped twitched. He remembered being eighteen and horny. Hell, he remembered being horny last night.

"She has a boyfriend," Lawrence told him. "And his father is...well...somewhat the Sheriff."

"As long as _her_ father isn't _somewhat_ the Sheriff," Stone said with a twinkle in his olive eyes. "That's really it? Out of 56 people? What about...you know, in the 20-29 age range?"

"Well, Johnathan's mother is 29, but that's old for you, Winston, and really, you don't need to be concerning yourself with this right now."

Lawrence looked at his niece, who was signing to him. "Not a one who's good enough for you, I can assure you," he told her.

"She can read lips?" Michonne asked.

"Yes, if you're facing her," Lawrence answered.

Michonne turned to Vicky. "I need to find a wedding dress and a bridesmaid dress. Where do you suggest I start?" Vicky began to lead her away. Michonne turned to Daryl. "You come along, too. We're going to find you a tuxedo."

"Ain't wearin' no damn tux," Daryl said.

"Yeah," Michonne told him. "You are."


	41. Chapter 41

Daryl glanced skeptically at the cuffs of the tuxedo, which were buttoned around his wrists. He'd never worn anything tight around his wrists before. Sleeveless shirts were more his style. He looked at himself in the store mirror. "I look ridiculous!"

"You look handsome," Michonne told him. "You look like you could be a male model. You could be the next Brad Pitt."

"Who the fuck is Brad Pitt?"

"He was in _Fight Club_ ," Lawrence said as he adjusted his tuxedo jacket.

" _Fight Club?"_ Daryl asked. _"_ What the hell were you doin' watchin' that in the monastery?"

"I didn't watch it in the monastery," Lawrence replied. "I watched it in the theater. It came out a couple of months before I decided to become a monk. I saw it with my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? Told me you ain't never had a girlfriend."

"No, I told you I'd never had _sex_. And I told _you_ that I thought _you'd_ never had a girlfriend."

"So she drove you to celibacy?" Michonne asked.

"When I told my priest I felt a calling, he said I should date for a while before I became a novice to make sure I wasn't called to marriage instead. I thought she was the one, but she dumped me for my best friend. So I figured that meant I _was_ called to celibacy, but perhaps I should have mulled it over longer."

Michonne chuckled.

Daryl tugged at his bowtie. "Thing's gonna choke me to death."

"You'll get used to it," Michonne assured him.

"What do you think of adding the top hat?" Lawrence placed a tall, black hat on his head.

"Ya look like the fuckin' Penguin," Daryl told him.

"Nadia doesn't want the top hat," Michonne insisted. "And you can lose the watch chain, too."

[*]

When the tuxedos were in boxes, and Michonne had selected a dress for Nadia and another for Carol, they went and each got a large, flat dolly from the office supply store and began loading up supplies to bring to the garage. They started with the Rite Aid. "Nadia is going to be so pleased," Lawrence said. "This is a gold mine. You've barely touched the medicines." They even found a bunch of antibiotics behind the pharmacy counter.

They passed a wine store that was nearly empty. "You know the drinking age is twenty-one," Lawrence told his nephew.

" _Was_ ," Stone said. "Like I said, we're almost out of bottled water. And we had an entire camp here at one time. Vicky and I didn't drink it _all_ alone."

Later, they passed an untouched music store, and Lawrence asked Stone to unlock and roll up the gate, but Daryl told him, "Nah. No. No more guitars. Medicine, food, batteries. In that order."

"At least let me get some strings and sheet music. They don't take up any room. And maybe a harmonica."

Stone unlocked the gate and slid it up with a clatter.

"Why haven't you opened this before?" Lawrence asked his nephew. He turned to Michonne and Daryl. "My niece and nephew both played in the high school orchestra. Stone was quite the violinist. Vicky played harp. She can also play guitar quite well."

"Didn't really feel like playing anymore," Stone said.

"But you were first chair!"

"I don't know if you've noticed this or not, Uncle Laurie, but the world's changed."

"The world will always need music." He gestured at the store. "Go on. Grab yourself a violin."

Stone rolled his eyes.

"Girls like musicians, you know."

"Yeah..." Stone said. "The violin's not that hot. Trust me."

Michonne chuckled when the young man followed his uncle into the music store. Vicky trailed after her brother. They returned with strings, sheet music, a harmonica, a violin, and another guitar.

"That's yer third guitar," Daryl told him.

Vicky smiled and pointed to herself. She mouthed the word "Mine."

"We can get you something if you feel left out," Lawrence told Daryl. "Do you play anything? A mouth harp perhaps?"

"Guess ya think I played the spoons, too, huh? While sittin' on my porch drinkin' moonshine?"

"Don't tell me you never sat on your porch drinking moonshine," Lawrence said.

"Maybe."

They pressed on, loading more boxes and items onto the dolly. When they pushed their dollies by the closed-up Victoria's Secret, Michonne grinned. "Want go in and get something for Carol?"

"Shut up," Daryl muttered. Still, he couldn't help but glance in the store window and imagine Carol wearing one of those things.

[*]

It was growing dark, so they spent the night where the teenagers had made camp in JC Penny. They each made up a display bed. Stone said they used to camp in mattress and bedding in Sears, but, after everyone died, they didn't feel like setting foot in that store anymore. Too many ghosts.

"You're putting it on the wrong way," Michonne told Daryl, and took over his useless efforts to get the fitted sheet on correctly. "Haven't you ever made a bed before?"

"Made lots of beds," he said. "In the woods."

He stood back and let her make his bed for him. He shed his boots and jacket and climbed in with his clothes on. The fire pit gave off a flickering light and a bit of warmth, but he was glad for the heavy comforter. Daryl lay on his back with his hands behind his head and watched the flames stretching shadows toward the ceiling high above. He thought how comfortably smooth and silky these new sheets were and decided he'd bring home a set for Carol. In the bed to his left, Michonne was already asleep and breathing rhythmically, but in the bed to his right, Lawrence was talking to Stone.

"I'm sorry you lost everyone like that. Your parents, and then your camp. All twelve people."

"Used to be thirteen, actually," Stone said. "But we had to banish one guy. He wouldn't stop coming onto Vicky. He never touched her, but even when we all warned him to stop leering at her and saying lewd things to her...he didn't. Caught him playing peeping Tom once when she was washing up. We took a vote, everyone agreed. We let him have a couple of knives and some food, shoved him out, and locked the gates. A few days later, when three of us went out to lead some zombies away from the gates, we found him. Transformed. I put him out of his misery, you know, and it felt good, in a weird way. He was such a skeevy creep before he transformed. It scared me how good it felt to kill him. At least he was already dead, though. I've never killed a living man. Have you?"

"More than I can count on one hand," Lawrence said. "We went to war with the Saviors."

"Yeah, they seemed like bad news." Stone was quiet for awhile and then said, "We never should have gone looking for the monastery. We might not have lost our whole camp."

"Or you might have been lost with them. The Lord works in mysterious ways."

"Do you know how cliche that sounds, uncle Laurie? Look around. We're living in hell."

The ex-monk sighed. "It doesn't help to focus on the evil, Winston. You have to find something to live for."

"That what you found? In this woman you're marrying?"

"Yes."

"Always wondered how you could stay celibate so long. Have you really never - "

"- Really."

"Not even before you took orders?" Stone asked.

"Not even before. Though it wasn't for lack of trying, if I'm being honest."

Daryl was on the edge of toppling over into sleep, and Stone's laugh kept him from drifting off. "I had a girlfriend, you know, before it all started," Stone said.

"Anna."

"Yeah. Guess I told you about her. Anyway, she told me, you know...junior prom. She'd be ready then. But we never made it to junior prom. She never made it past the first week after the outbreak."

"You've lost a lot."

"Who hasn't? I've been living to keep Vicky alive. She's been living to keep me alive. All we've had is this last bit of family. But after awhile...you've got to ask yourself - what's the point?"

"You'll be happier in Alexandria," Lawrence assured him. "We're building lives there. People fall in love there. They make families. They have jobs. There's a one-garage school house, a range, a government, block parties, music - _community_. There's life."

"I could use a life," Stone said. "And I'd love it if I didn't die a virgin. One girl who's 17 and one woman who's 29, you say?"

Daryl smiled, closed his eyes, and sleep finally overtook him.

[*]

Karen Campbell knocked on the kitchen door, and Carol opened it. "Council meeting," Karen said. "In five minutes."

"Is there a threat?"

Karen shook her head. "They're back. With three trucks full of loot and two eighteen-year-olds. We have to discuss their admission to the community. Lawrence's niece and nephew, apparently."

Daryl was already at Rick's house when Carol arrived. He nodded to her from where he stood by the fireplace. She walked over and whispered, "Glad you're home safely," but she didn't try to kiss him in front of everyone. Daryl did not seem a fan of public displays of affection. So instead, she took a spot standing by the mantle.

"Shouldn't ya be sittin' down?" he asked.

"I'm not an invalid. I just have a broken arm."

Everyone was smiling. This was the biggest score since Cabella's. Two major intact finds in a row. It felt like they were turning some kind of good-luck corner.

Glenn grinned. "I can't believe all the stuff you brought back! And you say there's _more_?"

Daryl nodded.

"We need to speed up the construction of that warehouse," Tom Miller said. "We need safe, organized storage now. I motion we take the second crew off the outdoor sanctuary and put them on the warehouse." The motion was seconded and then approved.

"We need to talk about work assignments," Father Gabriel said, "for these two new community members we're admitting."

It was agreed Stone would be assigned to the trash collection crew and that Vicki would help check inventory. Both would be asked to teach a weekly track and field class to train the children and supply runners to be quicker on their feet and to jump farther and higher, and Stone would go on runs at least once a month since he could unlock things. He would certainly have to come back to the mall with them.

"And what about housing?" Karen asked. "We're going to have to free up a room or two for them."

Michonne looked pointedly from Daryl to Carol. "Are there any empty rooms available in your house?"

Carol knew what she was implying, but she avoided the pointed question. "There will be," Carol said, "when Nadia and Lawrence get married. But he's not moving in with her before the wedding."

"Seriously?" Abraham asked.

"Well, he did use to be a monk," Carol reminded them.

Michonne smiled a little indulgently and then looked straight at Carol. "Are there any _other_ rooms available in your house?"

Carol wasn't sure what to say. Daryl had been in her bed several nights, but not _every_ night, and _none_ of his stuff was in her room. He'd said she was _his woman_ , but she wasn't sure what, precisely, that meant to him, or if he'd _want_ to share a room with her. She looked at him, but his eyes dropped to the carpet.

While Carol was trying to think what to say in response to Michonne's question, Daryl looked up from Rick's carpet. "They can have my room."

Carol felt a confused fluttering in her chest, a tangled dance of hope and fear.

"Got one of them trundle beds," Daryl continued. "Be fine for now. When Lawrence and Nadia get hitched and move into the same room, each of them kids can have their own."

"I motion the new community members move into house eight," Rick said formally. The houses were all numbered, since there were so many couples, singles, and small families living together that it was impossible to identify a house by a single last name.

"I second," Michonne said, and the motion was adopted.

As they walked from the Council meeting later, Carol said to Daryl, "Generous of you to offer up your room."

"They gotta stay somewheres."

"So..." She adopted a light, joking tone. "Does this mean you're planning to shack up with me?"

"I weren't _planin'_ nothin'." Daryl sounded almost defensive, as though he thought she was accusing him of tricking his way into her room. "I just thought...ya know."

"No, I _don't_ know, actually," Carol said. "Because you don't say much about what you think. What _did_ you think?"

"I thought since we been...since...I mean...ya said ya like bein' my woman...so I just thought..." He gritted his teeth and stopped walking. "Look, if'n ya don't want to share a room with me, ya know, I can put my shit in the storage closet and sleep anywhere. Sleep on the couch. On the porch. On the roof. Wherever."

Carol, relieved to realize that he was just as uncertain of her feelings on the matter of rooming together as she was of his, laughed. "Why would anyone sleep on the roof?"

"Used to sometimes when I's a kid. Didn't have air conditioning. Coolest and safest place in the summer."

"Well, you certainly don't have to sleep on the roof here. Might as well share my room." She shrugged casually, unwilling to imply she thought it was a huge step in their relationship, in case he didn't. She started walking again.

He trailed beside her. "Sure ya don't mind?"

"You're already there most nights anyway. Just don't leave your stuff lying all over the place when you move in." She smiled and bumped him playfully with her shoulder. Then she winced at the short burst of unexpected pain. She'd forgotten that she was still in a sling and that she'd been shot in that shoulder not all that long ago.

"Take it easy," he warned her.

"I hate being like this," she grumbled. "I want to get back on the range. Practice my shooting."

"Ya got plenty to do round here. And ya ain't got to shoot anyone anytime soon. Safe here in the gates."

"For now," Carol agreed.

[*]

Rick stood leaned against the open doorway of the bedroom as Michonne twirled before the mirror in a dress she'd picked up at the mall. He let out a low whistle.

Michonne turned and chuckled. "I just thought I'd pick up something nice to wear at the wedding. I won't have much other use for it."

"Oh, I can think of a use," Rick told her, smiling. "You can wear it to bed." He sauntered toward her, snaked an arm around her, and let his hand settle on the fabric where it stretched tightly over her ass.

She pushed him playfully away. "No way. You're not messing up this dress before the wedding."

"Then take it off."

[*]

His belongings piled in a laundry basket and crammed in his pack, Daryl walked into Carol's bedroom. He felt a little uncomfortable, as if he were somehow imposing. She hadn't seemed too sure she wanted him there, but when he dropped his stuff on the carpet, she said, "I cleared out two drawers for you in the dresser and some space in the closet."

He slid his bunched up clothes tightly into the first empty dresser drawer and rolled it shut. "Only need one. Ain't gonna take up much of your space."

" _Our_ space," she corrected him. "You're not a guest."

"Yeah? What am I?" he asked, and then wished he hadn't admitted he didn't quite know.

She shrugged, looked away, and said, "You're my man."

With a hint of a smile on his face, he put his crossbow on the floor in the corner and leaned his quiver against the wall next to it. Then he took off his handgun and knife and set them on her writing desk. He undid his belt, with its holster and magazines and clips, and draped it over the desk chair. Next he hung up his long-sleeve, winter, leather jacket, his sleeveless leather jacket, and, finally, the tuxedo. Daryl took off his boots and lined them up neatly, next to his only other pair, on the closet floor. He was making a calculated effort to be neat. He didn't want Carol to regret making this _their_ room.

Carol came and stood beside him in front of the closet. She nodded toward the tux. "Are you really going to wear that for the wedding?"

"Don't see the point. Like puttin' lipstick on a pig. But they ain't givin' me a choice."

"Well, I can't wait to see you in it. Or to wear this myself." She reached out and touched the elegant, royal blue dress Michonne had given her earlier that day.

Daryl thought the dress was too fancy, just as ridiculous as his tux, but her eyes lit up a little when she ran her fingers over the silky fabric, so he kept the opinion to himself. He knew Ed hadn't liked her wearing nice things. After all, if Ed had let her do that, she might have realized how pretty she was, and she might have gotten too confident.

As useless as Daryl thought fancy clothes were, he did very much like that happy look in her eyes. "Try it on yet?" he asked. "It fit ya a'right?"

"It's a little long, but I can hem it. Nadia's dress is a little snug. I'll have to let it out for her."

"Good thing ya know how to do all that stuff."

Carol let go of the dress. "I used to think I wasn't smart enough, in the old world, that I would never find anyone better than Ed, because I never went to college or got a good job. All I learned to do was cook and sew and knit and clean. But now...people who went to college, people who were lawyers and managers and professionals, they're coming to _me_ for help."

He knew what that was like. "Feels kind of good, don't it?"

"A little bit," she admitted.

He slipped the white cardboard jewelry box out of the pocket of the coat he'd hung in the closet. "Got somethin' for ya." Daryl walked over and sat on the foot of the bed.

Carol sat next to him and took the box from his hand. "Did you ask Michonne to pick it out?"

"Nah. I picked it."

"Really?"

The skepticism in her tone made him nervous. He watched her eyes as, with one hand, she fumbled off the cover off the box. When she gasped, he knew he'd done good. She slid her fingers over the charm and looked like maybe she was about to cry.

"Ya like it?"

She nodded and asked him to help her put it on. He felt like an idiot, fumbling with the chain, trying to get it to clasp with his clumsy fingers. It was harder than threading a bow.

She went and looked at herself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. "Thank you," she half whispered.

He stood behind her, a hand on each of her hips, and just admired her in the mirror for a while.

"You ready for bed?" she asked.

"Mhmhm."

She fingered the Cherokee rose charm. "I think I'm going to leave this necklace on tonight. And nothing else."

Daryl bit down on his lip, his eyes falling in the mirror to where the charm fell, just above her breasts. "Damn, girl."

[*]

Carol had gained a bit of confidence since the first few times they'd attempted this union, and the sex was less shy than it had been, though still hampered by her broken arm. Even so, it was more powerful than anything Daryl had experienced before. He'd had messy, drunken sex with women, rough and sober sex, and sex that was guilty and dirty...but he'd never had sex like he had with Carol. It felt like more was naked than just their skin and more was joined than just their bodies.

She turned on her side afterward, which he knew by now was an invitation to spoon. He was looking forward to when her armed healed, and they had more options for both sex and sleeping positions.

Daryl settled against her and yawned. Usually, it took him a good hour to fall asleep, an hour of worried thoughts and painful memories, but that never seemed to happen after sex with Carol.

She started talking about her plans for planting spring vegetables, and about the bridal bouquet she was going to make for the upcoming wedding, and he tried to stay awake, to respond with the occasional "Mhmhm," but he didn't last three minutes.


	42. Chapter 42

A week passed. Sofie and Vicky bonded almost immediately, perhaps because they both had special challenges that made them semi-outsiders. Stone became a stand-in for Sofie's lost big brother, teasing her and messing up her hair and otherwise giving her grief.

The first day, Vicky would read Sofie's lips and then write her responses on a pad she carried with her everywhere. The second day, Sofie asked Lawrence to begin teaching her sign language, so she could at least read it, as it would be difficult to sign with only one hand.

Stone and Lawrence sparred almost like a father and son, Stone goading his uncle with occasional sarcasm and Lawrence giving his nephew plenty of unsolicited advice. Nadia was well received by the teenagers. The first night at dinner, Stone had told his uncle, " _No wonder_ you abandoned your vows," and Nadia smiled at the not-so-subtle compliment. Vicky, for her part, made an effort to show her acceptance of Nadia by braiding the woman's long, dark, flowing hair for her.

Everyone kept busy with their work. Vicky had begun helping with the construction of the warehouse, and the carpenter Tom Miller and his young apprentice Carl Grimes were surprised to find her so capable with tools. "Not bad for a girl, huh?" Tom Miller asked, and Carl replied, "Shhh!" to which Tom said, "She can't hear us."

Rick busied himself teaching firearms at the range and settling disputes among neighbors. Michonne painted Sofie's new bedroom with a mural. Lawrence helped the monks brew beer, wrote, and also worked on the warehouse. He was eager to see it finished so that the crew would move on to building the outdoor sanctuary and he could hurry up and get married there.

Carol continued to teach Sofie about plants and herbs and gardening and cooking, while Daryl took Ethan hunting or fishing in the mornings. Then, Daryl would go back out again in the afternoon, by himself. These lonely excursions took anywhere from two to three hours, and sometimes ended empty handed. But he needed that space, Carol knew, his solitude and a woods to roam, and he was always in a better mood after he'd had it.

There were nights Daryl stood guard on the wall and slipped into bed late, but other nights he remained by the fire with them after dinner, where he would usually sit on the floor and clean a gun or tighten his crossbow, and Carol and Sofie would play checkers on the coffee table while Stone, Lawrence, and Vicky struck up some music with guitars, harmonica, and fiddle. Nadia, meanwhile, half listened and half read her medical books.

House #8 had lost Brother Stephen and gained a tween and two teenagers. It was a strange family, flung together by circumstances and trial, born from the ashes of loss and blood and fire, but it was a family nonetheless.

[*]

Daryl Dixon was a quiet observer. He saw things people thought he didn't, and one of the things he saw was that Stone had started flirting with Enid from almost the very moment he set foot in Alexandria. So Daryl wasn't surprise tonight when, as they stood guard along the wall, the Grimes boy suddenly grumbled, "Nice guys always finish last."

"Nah. Not with the right kind of girl they don't."

"Stone's an asshole."

"No he ain't," Daryl said.

"He's trying to steal my girlfriend! Doesn't that make him an asshole?"

"Maybe a bit," Daryl agreed. Stone had a cocky self-confidence about him, which was annoying, but Daryl didn't dislike the young man. Stone had protected his deaf sister. He'd had the courage to survive this world, and he'd stayed clear of the Saviors. He worked hard for their community, not ashamed to do a dirty job like collecting and burning people's trash, even with all his fancy prep school education.

"And Enid...lately she's been..." Carl shook his head. "I think maybe she's going to _let_ him steal her."

"Kid," Daryl told him, "ya gotta take the bull by the horns."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know," Daryl admitted. "It's what Merle always told me when I wanted a girl." Daryl never had taken the bull by the horns, though. He'd only been with women who had come onto him, and done so obviously. They were never the women he _really_ wanted. But they were available. Maybe he'd finally taken the bull by the horns with Carol, though, when he'd suggested that first kiss.

The Grimes boy looked at him through his one good eye. "Think it's because Stone's older? Or because he's so athletic? Because he can play the violin? Or because I'm missing an eye?"

"That patch is bad ass. Chicks dig pirates."

Carl laughed. "Yeah, sure."

"Ya know who knows what it's like to be missing an eye?"

"Who?"

"Vicky. Ain't got no ears."

"Well, she's got ears," Carl said. "She just can't hear."

"Real pretty girl, ain't she?"

"Aren't you with Carol now?"

"What? I didn't mean...shit, kid, Vicky's less than half my age!"

"Then why are you noticing her so much?" Carl asked.

"I ain't!" Damn this kid was dense. Maybe even denser than Daryl had been at his age.

"She'd be too young for you," Carl told him. "Even if you weren't with Carol."

"Yeah. I know."

"Half your age plus six, that's the rule."

"What rule?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know. Michonne told me that was the rule. You can't get with anyone who's younger than half your age plus six."

"Probably read that in one of her damn magazines."

"That means I can get with anyone from age 14 to 21," Carl said. "Except, the only person that age is Enid."

"Vicky's 18."

"When Kendra's 17, I'll be 23, and that's only half plus five and a half, but she's just a kid now."

"Did ya hear me - Vicky's 18. _Right now_."

Carl raised his rifle, looked through his scope in the distance, and then relaxed his gun. Whatever he'd seen hadn't concerned him, but Daryl took a peek through his scope too. Just a random walker. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.

Carl asked, "You're taking Stone on your run back to the mall tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Ain't personal. He knows the area and knows how to open the gates."

"I'm not asking because _I_ wanted to go with you," Carl said. "I just want you to take him away from Enid for awhile."

"Yeah? You want him to have an accident while we's gone?"

Carl looked at him blankly, realized he was joking, and said, "That's not funny."

"Ain't funny 'cause part of ya _does_ wish it. Jealousy's a bitch, kid."

"Haven't you ever been jealous?"

Daryl thought about it. Maybe a little - of Tobin. He hadn't understood why Carol took up with that man when Daryl himself was right there. Right there. Sitting on her porch. Carol could have asked him to do anything for her, and he'd probably have done it. Anything except admitting to himself he loved her, that was. Anything except making the first move and risking her rejection. "Nah," he lied. "I ain't the jealous type."

[*]

Daryl's body was hot and slick with sweat when he spooned naked against her. He smelled like the cool night air and the tobacco he'd been smoking on the wall, like musk and sex, and it didn't bother Carol one bit.

"Was that good for ya?" he asked as he kissed the back of her neck.

"It hit the spot," she said with a smile. She wasn't used to having such strong orgasms. They almost embarrassed her.

"Mmhm," he murmured. "Sounded like."

Daryl wanted sex. _A lot._ Carol supposed most men did. Ed had, but he hadn't been able to get it up half the time, and when he couldn't, he'd blame her, leave their bed angry, and go drinking with the boys. Because Ed also cheated on her, Carol had come to believe she just wasn't attractive enough to excite a man.

Daryl made her feel beautiful and desired, but also a bit exhausted. He wanted her at night, and he wanted her in the morning. He wasn't shy about coming on to her anymore, and, so far, she'd been willing every time, but she wasn't sure she could keep up this pace much longer before she had to start turning him away.

He'd be gone on that run to the mall tomorrow, which would give her a one-night break. "Think you'll be able to find champagne for the wedding?" she asked. "It's only a week away now."

He didn't respond. He was asleep. Sex put him out like a light, but itleft her wired.

Carol eased out from underneath his heavy arm, turned on the light on the nightstand, and grabbed her book. It was an hour before she went to sleep.

[*]

Carol dreamed of the flowers. Not Cherokee rose. The bright yellow flowers she told Lizzie to look at when she shot her in the back of the head. She dreamed of the yellow turning to red, and the red to black. She woke up screaming.

"Hey, hey, hey," said Daryl, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "'S wrong?"

She took in a few deep, raspy breaths, tried to control herself, to hide the emotional wave that was cresting over her, but she couldn't. She started crying.

"Shh...shhh..." Daryl soothed. "I got ya. It's a'right."

When Carol finally stilled, Daryl wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "The hell?" he asked.

"Bad dream, that's all," she said. "Go back to sleep."

"What dream?"

"I'm fine. Just go back to sleep."

"Ya ain't fine," he said.

She sighed. She'd never told him what happened.

 _Know what happened_ , he'd said that night they were searching for Beth. _They ain't here_. But he didn't know, not the half of it.

"I did a terrible thing," she said.

He was silent, but he tightened his arms around her.

She told him. About Mika and Lizzie. About all of it. She felt his reaction, in the stiffness of his muscles, and heard it, in the sound of his swallow, but he didn't say anything. Not at first. Finally, he did. "Ya had to."

"In the old world, she could have been put in some facility, she could - "

"We ain't in the old world. Ya did what ya had to do." He kissed her cheek, and when the tears started to flow again, he wiped them away again.

"I thought I'd let this go. After I talked about it with Lawrence, I thought I'd..." Carol sniffled. "I didn't let it all go, I guess. I'm still carrying it around."

"Well ya ain't gotta carry it alone. Ya ain't gotta carry nothin' alone. Ya know that, right?"

She put her free hand on his arm around her and squeezed it. "Thank you."

"Carol," he whispered in her ear, "I love ya."

Daryl was a man of action rather than words. Carol could guess he loved her, because he'd shown her that, in a dozen small ways, but this was the first time he'd actually _said_ it, and hearing those words overwhelmed her. Carol closed her eyes and started crying again, for a completely different reason this time. He held her tightly, and said, "I ain't any help, am I?"

"You are," she told him. "These are happy tears now."

"What do ya mean, happy tears?"

"It's just…you never said that before. That you love me."

"'Course I have."

"No," she told him, laughing a little through the tears. "That was the first time. Trust me. A girl notices those things."

"I ain't never said it before?"

Carol smiled. "No."

"But you knew it, right?"

"I knew."

"Don't know what I got to say it for, then," he grumbled.

"You don't _have_ to. But I _like_ to hear it."

"A'right. Keep that in mind. But don't expect me to be all romantic all the time. I ain't that guy."

"I know." She snuggled back against him.

There was silence for a while, and then Daryl's voice, quiet and a little embarrassed: "Don't bother me to hear it neither."

His vulnerability in admitting that made her want to laugh happily. She bit down on her lip so she wouldn't. She didn't want him to think she was laughing _at_ him. So she also fought her instinct to tease him by telling him she'd already told him once, and didn't he think once was enough? Instead, she said, "I love you, too, Daryl."

"Know that already," he insisted nonchalantly, but she could almost feel him smiling behind her.

Carol closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

The drive to the mall was going to be boring without a little entertainment, and Michonne thought it was quite entertaining to rile up Daryl. "Quiz time," she announced from the back seat of the pick-up as they began driving to the mall.

As she expected, Daryl let out a long, low groan from the driver's seat.

Stone cracked the window of the front passenger's side and let in some cool, early spring air. "And I thought one of the few god things about the apocalypse was no more pop quizzes."

"One of the _few_?" Michonne asked.

"That and I got to drink alcohol and finally quit Boy Scouts without disappointing my father."

"Well, it's not a school kind of quiz." Michonne folded the magazine back. "It's a fun quiz. What's your ideal type?"

Daryl glared at her in the mirror. "The _silent_ type."

"Personally," Stone said, "I like a girl who's free with her opinions."

"Bullshit," Daryl said. "No one likes _anyone_ who's free with opinions."

"Don't you respect Carol's opinions?" Stone asked.

"'Course I do. 'Cause she _ain't_ free with 'em. Thinks 'bout what she says. Usually right, too."

Michonne smiled. "First question. Your ideal partner should dress – A. trendy. B. sexy. C. conservative."

"Sexy," Stone answered. "Like you, Michonne."

Michonne raised an eyebrow and then asked, "Which one for you, Daryl – trendy, sexy, or conservative?"

"Should dress however the hell she wants."

"Well, Carol dresses conservatively most of the time, so I'm going to circle conservative for you."

Daryl reversed slightly so he could reposition the truck and maneuver his way around some cars.

"What is most important to you in a relationship," Michonne continued, "A. self-growth, B. money, or C. love?"

"Why isn't sex an option?" Stone asked.

"So should I put you down for money?" Michonne suggested. "Since it's the only other shallow choice?"

"Love I guess," Stone said.

"Daryl?"

"The fuck is self-growth?"

"I'm putting self-growth down for you." Michonne circled A for Daryl and underlined B for Stone. "Though I really think Carol needs to help you with that a little more than she already has." She ran a hand over the creased page of the magazine to smooth it. "What is an ideal first date – A. Dinner at a five star restaurant, B. a picnic in the park, or C. watching porn at your place? I know what to put for _Stone_." She underlined C. "How about you, Daryl?"

"How the hell would I know? Ain't never been on a date."

"Seriously?" Stone asked. "You're like…forty."

Daryl ignored him.

"You should really take Carol on a picnic sometime," Michonne told him. "I'm putting you down for picnic." She circled option B. "Here's an interesting one." She ignored the rumble of irritation in Daryl's throat. "What are your views on marriage? A. Somewhat important for material purposes. B Not important – why spoil the fun? Or C. Very important – it's a way of showing the one you love how committed you are."

"I'd say why spoil the fun," Stone said, "if only there were plenty of fish in the sea. But given present circumstances, it seems prudent for a guy to lock that shit up."

Michonne underlined A for Stone. "Daryl?"

"Ain't got views on marriage," Daryl said. "Ain't nothin' but a piece of paper from the government. In this world - ain't even that."

"Well, that's a _view_ ," Michonne told him. "It's just a very cynical one."

"Don't see _you_ rushin' to the altar."

"Well, Rick hasn't exactly asked." And the truth was, she'd rather expected him to by now. They hadn't been together that long, in terms of weeks, but a week in this world was like two months in the old one, and Rick was a traditional sort of man.

"Ain't like ya got married in the _old world_ neither."

It was true Michonne hadn't married Andre's father, but she'd been a different person back then - a lawyer and a career woman, and she'd wanted to declare her individuality and freedom. But here...here she was beginning to see that _the family_ was how you survived, not only survived, but lived and loved. Although she had her own important individual contributions to make, the family was greater than any one person. Oddly enough, in a world where all convention had collapsed, she had, for the first time, begun to crave the conventional. She wouldn't mind if Rick wanted to call her his wife.

While Michonne tallied the quiz, Stone said to Daryl, "I'm a little confused why my uncle chose you to be his best man."

"Yer welcome to take over," Daryl told him.

"He wants me to play violin at the wedding. I can't do that if I'm best man."

"I have your results, gentlemen," Michonne announced. "Stone, you got _The Tease_. You need someone who will keep you on your toes and keep you guessing."

"Sounds like Enid."

"Enid's with _Carl_ ," Michonne emphasized, though she wasn't sure Enid was the best girl for Carl. She was just the _only_ girl, at least, she _had_ been, before Vicky arrived. "Daryl, you got _The Devoted_ \- You need someone who will give you the attention you crave and who will love and guide you to become your best possible self. Does that sound like Carol?"

"If I say yes will ya promise not to start another quiz?"

"No."

[*]

"We cleared that out last time," Daryl told Stone as he walked into the wine store, but the young man was already all the way in. Stone jiggled the knob to what appeared to be a storage closet, pulled some kind of lock picking kit out of his jacket pocket, and worked the door open.

The young man shone a flashlight into the darkness inside and announced, "Jackpot."

Daryl approached and peered over his shoulder as the rays of the light hit the many bottles of the secret wine cellar.

"Champagne, too," Stone said. "Great for the wedding. Uncle Laurie's gonna love me."

Stone and Daryl began loading the bottles into boxes and putting the boxes on a dolly.

"Where's Michonne?" Stone asked.

"Taking everythin' left at Godiva," Daryl said.

"She stays in damn good shape for a woman who eats so much chocolate."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him.

"What?" Stone asked. "Like you haven't noticed how fine she is?"

"I got a woman."

"Just because you're on a diet..." Stone said with a smile as he slid a bottle into a now full case and shut the top of the box.

"Michonne's old enough to be yer mother."

"If she got knocked up when she was seventeen, maybe."

Daryl did not like where this boy's mind was going. "Thought ya was interested in Enid. Ya know, the girl that's yer age?"

Stone smiled at him. "You know, you're an interesting guy."

"Hell does that mean?"

"You look and sound one way, but you act another." He put the box onto the dolly. "Let's just say I never expected you to take an interest in my love life."

"Kid, you ain't _got_ a love life. "

"God knows. But I'm working on it."

Daryl shook his head and they went onto the next store. He glanced in the window of the Victoria Secret as they passed.

"Want me to open it?" Stone asked. "So you can get something for your woman?"

"Carol ain't gonna want that shit."

"It's not really for _her_."

Daryl glowered at him. Stone was not intimidated. "I'll just unlock it," he said cheerfully, heading for the gate. "Roll it up. You can come back later when no one's watching if you change your mind."

"Pffft," Daryl said, but he _did_ sneak back later. He picked up something quickly and buried his selection in the very bottom of his knapsack.

They snagged another service vehicle from the garage while they were there, so they could load more items from the mall. It's tank was half full. Daryl wired it while Stone watched in awe. "Did you used to be a car thief?" he asked.

Daryl slid out from under the steering wheel and gave him a cold look but did not answer. As they caravaned home in the two vehicles, Daryl kept glancing in the mirror at Stone and Michonne laughing and talking in the front seat of the other truck. He eased to a stop, put the truck in park, got out, and walked back.

Stone rolled down the driver's side window. "Car trouble?" he asked.

"Nah. Just want to drive this one."

"Why?" Stone asked.

Daryl ripped open his door. "Go drive the pick-up," he ordered.

Stone shrugged and slid out of the service vehicle.

When they were driving again, Michonne said, "What the hell was that about?"

"Damn kid's tryin' to get in yer pants."

Michonne snorted. "He's _eighteen_. He's perfectly harmless."

"Nah, he wants in yer pants."

"Well, let's be honest," she said with a flashing white smile, "who doesn't?"

Daryl shook his head, but his lips twitched slightly. "So ya _do_ know Stone's tryin' to get in yer pants?"

"He can _try_ all he wants, Daryl. He's clearly _not_ going to get there. And we both know he's going to end up with Enid, the way they've been flirting. Poor Carl. He really is smitten with that girl."

Daryl shook his head. "Don't get Carl's obsession with her."

"She's his _first_ love. That's a powerful thing for any young person. Wasn't it for you?"

Daryl didn't answer.

"How old were you the first time you fell in love?" she asked.

He glanced at her, said nothing, and returned his eyes to the road. The first time he fell in love was... _Carol._ But hell if he was going to say that.

He didn't have to, apparently, because Michonne said, " _Oh._ " And then she opened a magazine and left him alone.


	44. Chapter 44

The warehouse was finished, and the outdoor sanctuary was under construction, when they got back to Alexandria. They packed the warehouse with new loot while Vicky and a couple of townies wrote down the inventory on papers held against clipboards.

Daryl hid the red, skimpy, silk nightie he'd picked up for Carol in the very bottom of his dresser drawer, too chicken to give it to her. What if she laughed at the idea of him giving her such a thing? Or, worse yet, took offense?

During Daryl's watch on the wall that night, the Grimes boy told him, "Enid dumped me."

Daryl made a sympathetic sound without opening his mouth.

"I asked if it was because of Stone, and she claims no. But that's even worse! It'd be one thing if she thought Stone was better than me - but what the hell - she thinks I'm worse than _no one_? Is that what her dumping me means?"

"Maybe it just means she's a stupid bitch," Daryl said, and then he walked to the other side of the wall.

When he'd made his way back, Carl said, "Don't call Enid that. I don't like that you called her that. She's not stupid, and she's not a bitch. You shouldn't use that word when you're talking about women anyway. It's really crass."

Daryl peered at the young man who was correcting him and began walking back down the wall again. But when he was on the other side, looking out at the tree line, he began to think about what Carl had said.

Growing up, Daryl had been used to men calling women stupid bitches. It was as routine as lighting up a cigarette, and he'd believed most of them _were_ stupid bitches. Hell, he'd even called Carol a stupid bitch once, back on Hershel's farm. He'd been angry that Carol told him not to saddle that horse and continue the search for Sophia...angry that she was giving up hope of finding her daughter...and maybe he'd even been angry that she'd said, _I can't lose you too,_ as if he was worth something to her, as if she had some impossible vision of him he could never, ever, hope to live up to. It terrified him, the idea of disappointing her. He'd lashed out the only way he knew how. _Stupid bitch._

Carol hadn't allowed those words to hurt her, and it wasn't just because she was used to hearing them from Ed. It was because she knew Daryl hadn't meant them. She'd kept coming to Daryl - kept refusing to let him pull away from the group. She'd insisted on believing in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. Carol had thought better of him than anyone else ever had, and now he wanted nothing more than to deserve her respect. Maybe he'd been trying to deserve it ever since the farm.

He paced back and met Carl halfway along the wall. "Sorry I said it. Yer right. Should watch my mouth. Yer a good kid. A gentleman. Rick done a good job raisn' ya."

"Uh...thanks." Carl looked at him like he thought Daryl had just been possessed by an alien being.

"What time is it?" Daryl asked.

The Grimes boy glanced at his watch. "We've got a half hour left before Abraham and Sasha relieve us."

They walked in opposite directions, walked back, and met again in the middle.

Carl asked, "So, have you written your toast yet?"

"What toast?"

"Your best man's toast. For the reception."

"What?"

Carl shook his head. "You know the best man has to give a toast, right? A little speech." He lifted his hand as if raising a glass.

"Lawrence ain't said nothin' 'bout that!"

"Well, I'm sure he expects it. You better have something ready."

Daryl felt suddenly irritated, as he often did when he was anxious about something.

"Am I invited to the bachelor's party?" Carl asked.

"What?"

Carl sighed and shook his head again. "That's your duty, too, as best man."

"An ex-monk ain't gonna want no bachelor's party."

"It'll be his last night of freedom," Carl said. "He's going to want it."

"It's gonna to be his last night as a virgin is what it's going to be."

Carl snorted. "What? He is? Really?"

"You judgin', Casanova?"

"I'm 16. Not 45 or whatever he is."

"Yeah, it's fuckin' weird," Daryl agreed.

"Well, it's actually not fucking at all," Carl said, and Daryl snorted, shifted his rifle on his shoulder, and strolled to the other side of the wall.

[*]

Carol stirred awake when Daryl eased into bed behind her. She'd gone to bed in a t-shirt and a pair of Daryl's boxers. She found them strangely comfortable. Daryl kissed her neck, eased his hand under her shirt, and began fondling a breast. She swatted his hand away, muttering, "What time is it?"

"Good a time as any." He snaked his hand back under her shirt again and pressed himself against her from behind, which was when she realized he was completely naked _and_ erect.

She ought to tell him that he couldn't do that. He couldn't just strip naked and crawl into bed with her and start fondling her and expect her to be interested. She _should_ tell him, she was _going_ to tell him, but...his touch felt too good, and her nipples were hardening beneath his circling thumb, and his low voice in her ear, when he murmured, "Carol..." was making her horny.

Maybe she'd tell him he couldn't do that later.

Daryl rolled her on her back. He hooked his fingers in the band of the boxers she was wearing, and growled playfully, "These're mine, woman. Want 'em back." He tugged them down and off and then held himself up over her by his muscular arms, as if suspended in a push-up. In the faint moonlight that seeped through the blinds, Daryl raked his eyes over her lips. When she licked them expectantly, he lowered himself down slightly and kissed her, nibbling on her bottom lip lightly as he did so. Then Daryl claimed her mouth entirely with his, and his deep kisses excited her.

When she was breathing heavily and aching with need, he worked his mouth to her ear and ordered, "Open those legs for me." Carol spread her legs and wrapped her ankles around his calves. "Good girl," he told her as he eased in, moaning low in her ear. She didn't know how he had the strength to keep holding himself up and off her sling while they rocked, but she didn't worry about it - couldn't think about it- couldn't think about anything at all other than the pleasure that was mounting in her. Her whimpers turned to moans.

"That's right, Carol," he murmured. "That's a good girl. Yer gonna cum for me, ain't ya?"

She made some indecipherable noise of pleasure.

"Ain't ya?"

"God yes! Daryl, please..."

"Please what?" he asked, his smoky voice thrilling her.

Carol didn't even know what she said next. She couldn't remember her words. She just knew they made him thrust faster, which made her breathe harder, until she was clawing a path down his back with the nails of her one free hand. After they both climaxed, he threw himself on his back.

"Sorry," she said.

"What the hell for?"

"Scratching you. I know your back is...it's already..."

He laughed. "Didn't hurt me none. Hell, mark up every bit of me. Badge of honor."

She smiled and settled in against him, on her back, her head on his shoulder.

"When you get that damn sling off?" he asked.

"Nadia said a few weeks. Why? You getting tired of the same three positions? Am I starting to bore you?"

"Hell no."

They lay together in silence for awhile, regulating their breathing. In the darkness, Carol studied the filtered starlight painting lines across the ceiling "You know..." She needed to tell him this, though she didn't particularly want to.

"What?"

"You can't expect me to want sex every time you crawl into bed."

"I know. Sometimes yer gonna be on the rag."

She tried not to let his inelegant choice of phrasing annoy her. "No. I mean sometimes I'm not going to want sex even when I'm not _on the rag_." She wasn't _on the rag_ that often, anyway. These days her period came once every two months at best. She was probably going through perimenopause, the thought of which just made her feel old.

"Why not?"

She fell silent for a moment. Ed had expected her to deliver sex whenever he wanted it, but she thought that was because Ed was selfish and controlling. In Daryl's case, she thought there might be a different reason entirely. He'd simply never been in a long-term relationship. "Most women don't want sex _all the time,"_ she explained. "I'm just not always going to want it every night. I'm going to turn you down sometimes. Sometimes because I might be tired. Or I just might not be in the mood."

It seemed like a long time before he said anything. Quietly, he asked, "Ya did like that just now, didn't ya?"

"Very much. I didn't mean just now."

When he didn't say anything for another minute, she asked, "That's going to be all right with you, isn't it? Those times I don't want to?"

"Ain't like I got a choice."

"I just want to make sure you understand it isn't personal. It's just that Ed - "

"- I ain't Ed," he said angrily. "I ain't nothin' like Ed."

"I know."

"If ya don't want me," he said, his voice thickening, "then just tell me ya don't want me. Hell ya think? I'm gonna force myself on ya?"

"No! I don't think that. Of course I don't. I just...I don't want you take it personally when I turn you down. I don't want to upset you."

"If you don't want to upset me, then don't fuckin' compare me to Ed! Ever!"

"I wasn't! Forget I brought any of it up." She rolled on her side, away from him. She felt like she wanted to cry, but she bit it back.

The fear and sorrow was clawing its way up in her gut when he muttered, "Hell. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to yell." He was silent for awhile longer, and then he said, "Listen...whatever it was like with Ed...don't think it's gonna be like that with me. I wanna do right by ya, Carol. Maybe I ain't exactly Prince Charming. But I'm tryin'. Ya make me _want_ to try."

"I'm sorry if I made you feel insulted," she said gently. "I didn't mean to. I just felt like I had to tell you that."

He rolled on his side and put an arm tentatively around her.

"You know I have a lot of baggage," she told him. "And I'm trying too."

Daryl kissed the top of her head and settled his chin on it. "We's tryin' together." Carol closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace.


	45. Chapter 45

The sun was just rising through the dense Virginia trees when Daryl took Ethan hunting, which meant it hadn't warmed. It would probably be over sixty degrees at the height of the afternoon, but now their breath made light clouds in the forest air. It seemed like the wildlife was beginning to make a comeback, not just from the winter, but from the scourge of the hungry undead. The Alexandrians had, over the past few months, in the course of warring with the Saviors, hunting, fishing, scouting, and gathering wood, killed a great many walkers. They still roamed the woods and roadways, feasting on whatever they could grasp, but they did so in much smaller numbers now.

This morning, Daryl and Ethan had already bagged two rabbits, but they'd only had to kill one lone walker. Now they were following the trail of a feral pig. "Gonna have us some barbecue ribs tonight, boy!" Daryl licked his lips and Ethan grinned. "Now tell me," Daryl said, stopping still, "which way did Porky go here?"

Ethan squatted down to examine the signs. He was still barely nine, but it seemed to Daryl the boy had grown a full three inches since the first time he'd taken him hunting. Ethan looked left and then right and then straight. He looked right again. Daryl knew that look in the boy's deep brown eyes. He was afraid to make the wrong call.

That was the way Daryl felt every time Merle took him hunting, because he knew the wrong call meant ridicule. But why should Ethan feel that way? Daryl had never ridiculed him. He'd yelled and cursed in fright a couple of times, when Ethan had done something stupidly dangerous, but he'd apologized afterward.

Apologizing was something his own daddy never did. It wasn't something Daryl had learned to do easily himself, either. He'd probably done it before, but the first time he could really _remember_ apologizing to anyone was to Carol, after he'd gotten angry with her in Hershel's barn, tossed the saddle against the wall, and called her a stupid bitch. That short apology had struggled its way nervously out of his mouth, and he'd been afraid she wouldn't accept it, but she had, and casually too, like she'd _already_ forgiven him before he'd even said it.

"Study the signs," he told the boy gently. "Ya know what yer lookin' for."

Ethan shook his head. "I think...it went...right?"

Daryl got down on his haunches next to him. "Why?"

"I don't know," Ethan muttered.

"Well what gave you that idea?"

"I don't know. Because I'm an idiot I guess."

"You ain't an idiot. You's learnin'. What gave you the idea?"

"Those two are broken." Ethan pointed to two large, snapped twigs on the ground. "And the leaves are kind of...pushed down."

"Yeah, that's a good eye. _Somethin_ ' probably did go that way a while ago. But somethin' heavier and two-footed."

"Like a walker?" Ethan asked.

Daryl nodded. He reached over to the left. "Ya can see this been disturbed." He rustled the debris on the ground and revealed an indentation in the dirt beneath - a split hoof.

Ethan gritted his teeth and looked embarrassed.

"Ya go on now. I'll follow ya."

" _You'll_ follow _me_?" Ethan asked.

"Yeah. Ya know what yer doin'," Daryl assured him.

Daryl let Ethan lead them down the trail, occasionally clearing his throat when it appeared the boy was making a wrong move, which caused Ethan to reexamine the sign.

They did find the wild pig, at last, near a muddy stream, lying on its side, its hairy, brown skin torn open and a walker feasting on its guts.

"Goddamnit!" Daryl cursed, and the walker looked up.

Ethan promptly shot it with his youth crossbow, though it took him two arrows to get the forehead. As Daryl pulled out the arrows, one from the neck and one from the head, he said, "One shot next time. Can't waste arrows if ya ever meet a herd."

"Yes, sir."

[*]

Daryl walked Ethan back to the boy's house and supervised him while he skinned the rabbits in the backyard. The boy was getting better about not nicking any meat off. Karen came out onto the back porch and offered Daryl coffee, which he accepted with a grunted thanks, wrapping his bloody and muddy hand around the pale ceramic mug.

"How's Carol?" Karen asked.

"A'right," he said and sipped. He wasn't quite used to people asking him about Carol like that, like he was her keeper or something. Like he ought to know how she was at any given second. She was in the greenhouse, probably, at the moment, tending to he didn't know what. Maybe she was thinking happy thoughts. Maybe she was thinking sad thoughts. How could he know how she was?

Later, as he was bringing the cleaned carcasses back to his house to refrigerate for Carol to work her magic with later, he came across Lawrence surveying the outdoor sanctuary that was under construction. Daryl slowed to a stop behind the last pew. Lawrence didn't even comment on the skinned animals slung by rope across his back.

"It's going to be great for the wedding, isn't it?" the ex-monk asked him.

"Yeah. Looks real nice," Daryl agreed. There were five rows of wooden pews, angled, and divided into two groups, with an aisle between them. The stage was still being built. Tom Miller was currently nailing down a plank while Carl and Stone sanded the edges of another. Carl kept casting irritated glances at Stone, who was either unaware of the younger teen's displeasure with him or deliberately ignoring it.

"Listen," Daryl asked Lawrence, "ya ain't expectin' me to give a toast, are ya? Carl said ya might be."

"Well, it is traditional for the best man to offer the first toast at the reception."

Daryl scratched his cheek.

"It doesn't have to be long. I know you're a man of few words. Just...something short and sweet."

"Sweet?" Daryl asked.

"Say nice things," Lawrence told him. "You know...Congratulations, may the road rise up to meet you, may your quiver be full of children, la-dee-da."

"Does Nadia want y'all's quiver full of children?" Daryl respected Nadia, but she didn't strike him as the nurturing type. Carol, despite all that had been burned away of her old self, still had the heart of a mother beating in her - not just the courageous will to protect and the determination to train, but the tenderness too. She'd shown that with Sofie. While Daryl had a hard time envisioning Nadia with children, he could picture Lawrence with an entire brood of them climbing all over him while he laughed, ruffling his thick hair, and playing the drums on his slight belly, like something out of a cartoon.

"She said she's open to the possibility."

"Ain't the best world to be bringin' kids into," Daryl said.

"Neither was the old one. Life triumphs over death, hope over experience."

Daryl shifted the rope that was slung over his shoulder to reposition the carcasses. "You ain't gonna want a bachelor's party, though, right?"

"Well, sure I want a party. Who doesn't want a _party_?"

"Am I 'sposed to throw that?"

"Typically the best man does. It doesn't have to be a big deal. Some beer, a few guys, an hour...that's all. Oh, and the stripper of course."

Daryl stared at him coolly. He might have laughed at the joke if he wasn't so nervous about his best man duties.

Lawrence chuckled. "Maybe Carol would be willing to volunteer."

"Let me ask you somethin'. Ya want all of your organs intact for your weddin' night?"

"Preferably, yes." Lawrence clapped Daryl on the shoulder and smiled broadly. "Relax, Daryl. Life is better when you laugh."

[*]

Michonne's laugh was low and sultry when Rick whispered "you're beautiful" in her ear. She kissed his cheek and paced away from him on the wall, looked out over the fence line, and spied movement in the trees. But when she raised her rifle to peer through the scope, she saw nothing but the rustling of birds.

She lowered her gun and turned to find her smiling beau beside her again. "I think maybe we shouldn't stand watch together. You're too distracting."

[*]

When Daryl quietly opened the door to the large, multi-rowed greenhouse, he heard Sofie's voice rising from the corner where Carol kept the flowers. "Do you think one is blooming for my brother Andrew?"

"I'm sure of it," Carol assured her.

They didn't notice him approaching from behind. Carol was assisting Sofie with the heavy watering can. Between the two of them, they made a pair of hands, and together they tilted and poured, moving from pot to pot.

"It's a sad story," Sofie said. "About the trail of tears. But...pretty, too. Who told you? Your mother?"

"No, Daryl told me. When I lost my own little girl. He brought me a Cherokee rose and told me the story to make me feel better."

"Really? Mr. Dixon brought you _flowers_?"

Carol chuckled. "He's a very considerate man, Sofie. He's just a little rough around the edges. You're not scared of him anymore, are you?"

"No. I haven't been for a long time. I just didn't think he was... _nice_ like that."

"You'll notice the little things if you look for them."

Daryl cleared his throat. They looked up from the pots they'd been watering. Carol smiled. It was different than the smiles he used to get from her - less hesitation, no tint of sadness, and no mask of teasing - all genuine warmth. It threw him for a loop, a little bit, to have her smile at him like that, and he forgot what he'd come to say.

"Need something?" Carol asked. "Or did you want to help us pick peppers later?"

"Nah. Lawrence and I got to teach an archery class. Just..." He grasped for his reason for being here and finally remembered. "Put some meat in the fridge. Rabbit. Figured you'd make somethin' for Ethan's house and ours."

"How about I make something for House 1 and 2, today? I don't think they've had good, fresh meat in a long while. We have it at least twice a week. I feel kind of greedy, keeping all the meat to ourselves."

Daryl shrugged. "Fine. Make it for House 1 and 2 then."

"I'll make us stuffed peppers instead."

"A'right. Sure they'll be fantastic." He nodded to her and turned.

When Daryl had his hand on the greenhouse door, he heard Sofie ask, "If he's your boyfriend, why doesn't he ever kiss you?"

"He does," Carol said in an amused tone. "Just not in front of other people."


	46. Chapter 46

Carl Grimes paced the wall like an angry lion, his brown wooden Winchester rifle slung over his right shoulder. "Somethin' stuck in your craw?" Daryl asked him.

"Yeah!" Carl came to a sudden stop. "Stone walked Enid to her job at the warehouse this morning, and then I saw him kissing her behind the pantry this afternoon. Asshole! Kissing my girl!"

"Thought you said she weren't yer girl no more."

"Why do girls always go for jerks instead of the nice guy?"

"Dunno," Daryl said. "Why do nice guys always go for girls who go for jerks?"

Carl shook his head and paced to the end of the wall and then paced back.

"Ain't got a run for a while, but when I _do_ go," Daryl asked, "Want me to pick you up a book on sign language?"

"What for?"

"So ya can talk to Vicky."

"We don't share any jobs, really. She only does inventory, and I - "

"- Christ!" Daryl muttered. "Wake up, Carl! That girl's gorgeous, and she smiles at ya."

"She does?"

"Got to get yer head out yer ass," Daryl told him. "Take a look 'round." Not that Daryl was one to talk. He probably could have been going to bed with Carol a year ago if he wasn't such a dumb ass himself.

"Vicky's not Enid."

Daryl shook his head and paced away along the wall.

When they met again in the middle, Carl said, "Who made you Village Matchmaker, anyway?"

"Just tryin' to help ya out. Tired of pickin' up Playboys for ya."

"Sure you weren't picking those up for yourself?"

Daryl grunted. "Don't need 'em. Trust me, the real thing's a hell of a lot better." Carl looked peeved, and Daryl remembered how much he hated it when his cousins and Merle used to rib him for "still" being a virgin. He was so eager to lose his virginity, he hardly knew what was happening when he did. "Look, Carl, all I'm sayin' is Enid ain't the only girl in the world. And ya should at least...hell. Do what I never did. Ask a girl out." He thought of Michonne's quiz. "Take her on a picnic."

"A picnic?"

"Or whatever."

Carl shook his head. He raised his rifle, looked through his scope, and then lowered his gun. "Thought I saw something."

Daryl scanned the tree line with the binoculars. "What?"

"I don't know...kind of like feathers. A bird flying I guess." He looked through his scope again.

"Might could of been an owl," Daryl said.

Carl peered with his one good eye through the black scope. "There's nothing out there," he said and lowered the gun. "It's weird. It's been weeks and not one threat. No Wolves, no Saviors, no Hells Angels. Hardly any walkers even stumble up to the gates these days."

"Could get used to this." Daryl had lived his entire life with his back against the wall, always ready for a fight. But now, he finally had everything he'd fantasized about as a young boy - home-cooked food on the table every night, people who cared about him and noticed when he was gone, and kindness under his roof. He also had everything he'd fantasized about in his twenties - steady work, the respect of his peers, the occasional beer, and a woman to fuck on Friday nights. Hell, not only Friday nights, but a few other days of the week too, and not only to fuck, but to _make love_ with, which was not something he'd ever even _thought_ to fantasize about.

In a world where so many people had lost everything, he'd gained all the things he'd ever dreamed of and more. Daryl picked up the binoculars one more time and studied the wooded horizon, peered inside the cars in the outer lot, and searched for the faintest hint of a threat.

All was quiet on the Alexandrian front.

[*]

When Daryl came home from his shift on the wall, and walked through the living room to head toward the stairs, Lawrence and Nadia were making out on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers. He came to a shocked standstill. He knew they were getting married, but for some reason he didn't envision either of them as being passionate. He was preparing to break into a run when they pulled apart, Nadia cleared her throat and smoothed back her hair, and Lawrence picked up a throw pillow and set it on his lap.

"Hello, Daryl," the ex-monk said. "Anything interesting on the other side of the wall?"

"Owls," he said.

"Ah."

"'Nite." Daryl hightailed it up the stairs.

He didn't know how the ex-monk did it - waiting until his wedding night. That's what Carol had told him they were doing anyway. Daryl could barely tolerate the few days between his first kiss with Carol and the morning they'd finally had sex, he'd wanted her so badly. Now, as he walked toward the room they shared, he reminded himself not to crawl into bed expecting sex. Carol didn't like that. If she was asleep, he told himself, he wouldn't wake her up. And if she was awake, he'd...well maybe he'd _hint_ and see if she took the bait.

Light was seeping through their bedroom door, which meant she was probably up reading. Carol read a lot since they'd become more settled. Ed, she'd said, used to tell her reading was a waste of time. Alexandria had a small library, but most of it was reference material. She'd probably worked her way through nearly all of the fiction.

He didn't look at her right away when he came in. He leaned his gun against the wall first, but when he shut the door and turned to face her, he saw it. Carol was sitting on top of the comforter and wearing the red, skimpy, silky, low-cut nightie he'd hidden deep in his drawer. He breathed out like he'd just been punched in the gut. It was tight on her. He'd guessed her size a bit small, obviously, but the tightness didn't bother him any.

"Brother Stephen delivered our laundry this evening," she said, "and I found this when I was putting your clothes away. I assume you weren't planning on keeping it for yourself?"

He stood there, staring and not moving, because he couldn't make himself move, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Her flesh grew pink beneath his gaze, and she seemed suddenly self-conscious. "I'll put it back," she said, sliding out of bed. "It was silly of me to -"

"- No!" he shouted, and then realized he'd yelled. "I mean. Damn, Carol, ya look... _damn_."

She smiled. "So you want me to leave it on?"

He nodded. His tongue snaked out to lick his lips. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Yeah. For now."

[*]

Carol woke up and felt Daryl's absence. The alarm clock glowed 3 AM. She was naked beneath the solid weight of the comforter. The silky nightie lay in a crumpled pile on the floor. She rolled on her back and eased herself up against the headboard to find Daryl standing naked by the window. He was staring out the slightly opened blinds. The moonlight bathed him, and her eyes swept up his strong legs.

Carol was surprised to feel herself stirring again. She hadn't exactly been deeply in tune with her sexual desires most of her adult life, and she certainly wasn't used to feeling them this strongly and this frequently. She'd told him she wasn't going to want it all the time, but...lately...she did. Carol thought about sex at the most inappropriate times, too, like during Council meetings, when she'd look at Daryl leaned against the mantle, in that masculine, casual pose of his.

"Something wrong?" she asked him.

He turned around. She was impressed by how comfortable he seemed to be in his own skin, how unabashed to stand stark naked before her, when he used to hide his scars. "Lawrence expects me to give a toast at the reception," he said. "And throw a bachelor's party."

She chuckled. She thought he'd been worrying about walkers or potential armies of future enemies, not public speaking and social commitments. She patted the bed. "Come here. I'll help you relieve some of that stress."

He sat down on the bed, his back to her, like he thought she was suggesting a shoulder rub instead of sex. Carol smiled and sat Indian-style behind him, the blanket still covering her from the waist down. As she worked a knot out of his left shoulder with her one free hand, she asked, "What do the tattoos mean?" She'd never asked, though she'd wondered about the strange, demonic wings for awhile now.

"Dunno," he said.

She stopped rubbing. "What do you mean you don't know?"

He turned toward her. "Drunk off my ass when I got it. Don't remember why I picked it. Even _if_ I picked it. Just woke up with it the next mornin."

"Oh, I thought...between that and the jacket...maybe you were once in some motorcycle gang or something."

His eyes darkened. "Just 'cause I like bikes don't mean I was in a gang!"

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said coolly. She didn't try to appease him, the way she used to do when she'd upset Ed. Instead, she said, "Be _fair,_ Daryl...I know Merle was in and out of juvie when he was young. I know you both had rough upbringings. If I think maybe you were in a gang at some point...you know, it's not a huge leap."

"Well I weren't," he insisted.

"Okay. Do you think it would bother me for a second if you were?"

"Wouldn't it?"

"Neither of us is who we were," Carol told him. "Why would it matter to me now?"

He didn't raise his voice this time. He just asked an honest question, and asked it a little sadly: "Ya believe me when I say I ain't never been in one?"

"Of course I believe you. You're easy to believe. You're brutally honest." She put a hand on his cheek. "And I kind of love that about you."

He covered her hand with his hand, turned his face, and kissed her palm. Then he turned back to look at her. "Well, to be brutally honest, ain't got a clue how to write this goddamn toast."

She laughed. "You're really wound up about this. What can I do to help relax you?" She wiggled her eyebrows, and he finally seemed to realize that she was offering a second round of sex.

He smiled. "How ya feel 'bout..." He glanced down at his lap and then back up to let his eyes linger on her lips.

She knew what he was asking for, and she didn't want to deny him, not given the way he'd repeatedly brought her to orgasm with that beautiful mouth of his. "I can do that," she said.

"Can?" he asked.

She looked down.

He lowered his head to catch her eyes. "Bad memories?" he asked. "'Bout that?"

She nodded. With her head slightly bent as it was, she could see the anger in his jawline.

"Deserved what he got," Daryl muttered. He got out of bed and then slid under the comforter. "C'mere." He twirled his hand like he wanted her to slide under, lie on her side, and spoon back against him, so she did.

When his arm was settled around her, she asked, "Don't you want me to - "

"- 'nother time," he said, and kissed the back of her neck. "When it feels right to ya. When it's _want_ and not _can_." He rested with his arm across her abdomen, making no move to touch her more intimately.

"I didn't say I just wanted to go back to sleep, though." Carol pushed herself back against him and began to rub her naked ass slowly over his lap.

His groan was music to her ears, and she delighted in her power to quickly harden him. He nipped at her earlobe and suckled at her neck. She took his hand and pushed it against her bare breast. As he played, she shifted faster against him. He let his hand slip from her breast downward and between her legs.

"Damn, girl. Yer already wet." Daryl lifted her leg and wrapped back around his. He pressed lightly against. His voice was low and hungry in her ear: "Want?"

" _Want_ ," she breathed.

As he slid slowly inside, he murmured, "Sweet, sexy Carol..."

[-]

"No lap dances at this bachelor party," Michonne told Rick as Carl disappeared out the side door and she cleared the breakfast plates to the sink.

Rick chuckled as he brought her the coffee cups. He set them down on the counter with a clink. "I think Daryl would be hard pressed to find a stripper in Alexandria."

" _Daryl's_ running this party?"

Rick nodded with his lips pursed to hold back his laugh.

Michonne shook her head, patted his cheek, and kissed him. "Have fun tonight."

[*]

The brewhouse was permeated by a powerful, sour smell. "Just one keg," Daryl plead with the brewmaster, Brother William. He leaned back against a stack of burlap bags of barley. The Hilltop Colony was keeping them supplied in exchange for a portion of the finished product. The monks gave a third of their product to the Hilltop Colony, a third to Alexandria's pantry for distribution, and a third they kept for their own house. "It's his bachelor's party."

"You not only want me to approve of his renunciation of his vows, but you want me to give you the means to celebrate it in drunken debauchery?" the monk asked.

"Ain't gonna be no debauchery. This is Lawrence we're talkin' 'bout. And y'all are invited too."

"One. And only a pony keg. No more." Brother William looked to his left and then his right and leaned in confidentially. "None of us are happy he renounced his vows. They're supposed to be _lifelong._ But marriage is a beautiful thing ordained of God. If he's going to do it, I'm glad he's doing it in style. I'll stop by for a little."

[*]

Glenn glanced at his watch. "I really need to get back to Maggie. The baby could come any day now." He stood from the floor of Rick's living room and drained the rest of his beer from his pint glass. The front door opened and shut with a creak and a whop.

"You sure know how to throw a rocking party." Abraham shook his head at Daryl over the coffee table. He stood up. "Think I'm going to get on back to the little woman myself."

That left just Rick, Carl, Stone, and Lawrence. "There's beer," Daryl said motioning to the pony keg he'd requisitioned from the monks. The three monks he'd invited, plus Brother William, had stopped by, but they'd all left after thirty minutes and some polite conversation. "Was I supposed to do somethin' else?"

"It's fine," Lawrence assured him. "I enjoy the company of my fellow men."

"Might want to think about your phrasing there, Uncle Laurie," Stone said with a smirk.

Rick chuckled. "Either that or back out of this whole wedding idea right now."

"It wouldn't really be fair to Nadia," Stone agreed, "or any of the other men who might want a whack at her."

Lawrence looked at him sternly. "I would thank you not to talk about anyone taking _a whack_ at my future wife."

"Sorry." Stone swallowed a gulp of beer. "It's just, she _is_ beautiful, Uncle Laurie. Like...exotic, movie star beautiful. How exactly did _you_ swing that?"

"I'm a man of infinite charms. I have a way with the womenfolk."

Stone laughed. "No, seriously," he said. "I mean, what happened? Was it just the apocalypse turning everything upside down?"

"How could I explain what happened? _Love is a many splendored thing. / It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring. / Love is nature's way of giving / a reason to be living / the golden crown that makes a man a king_."

Stone held his cup out in a stop-sign-like gesture. "Please, I think I speak for us all when I say no more poetry."

"You don't speak for anyone but yourself," Carl grumbled.

Stone glanced at him. "Have a drink and lighten up."

" _Could_ I have some, Dad?" Carl asked.

Rick turned to Daryl, "Did the Council ever establish a legal drinking age?"

"Up to the parents," Daryl said.

"Go on," Rick told him. "Pour yourself a cup."

Carl did, eagerly, but then he winced a little when he sipped it.

"You'll get used to it," Stone told him. "It'll put hair on your chest."

"I already _have_ hair on my chest," Carl insisted. Stone chuckled and now Carl looked downright pissed off. "You think you're something else, don't you?"

"Something else than what?" Stone asked.

"Boys," Lawrence said. "Let's not have any pissing matches during my bachelor's party, please." He took a sip of the frothy monk's brew. "Perhaps I should go get my guitar?"

Daryl sighed.


	47. Chapter 47

The girls were having a much better time of it at Nadia's bachelorette party. Carol, Nadia, Karen, Vicky, and Michonne had all been hitting the wine hard while Sasha and Maggie, both being pregnant, were doing the pouring. They laughed and talked as they sat around the dinning room table. Vicky turned her eyes from face to face in an effort to read lips. She had a pencil and a notepad before herself on the table, so that she could occasionally write a comment.

"Ethan really liked Daryl so much," Karen was saying. "And I thought, Daryl's a little odd, a little surly, a little unkempt, but he's not _bad_ looking. Maybe I should try to flirt with him a little at that party..." She looked apologetically at Carol. "Of course, I didn't know he was in love with you at the time."

"I don't blame you for giving it a try," Carol said, though she'd been irked at the time.

"All he did was grunt in reply anyway."

"I suppose Lawrence was more articulate when he flirted with you," Nadia said.

"What?" Karen's eyes widened with surprise.

"I was temporarily jealous," Nadia admitted. "All those trips to your house to work on his book."

"He was probably _trying_ to make you jealous," Karen insisted. "All he did was talk about his book. And _you_. And all I did was edit and take dictation."

"I know. It was petty of him, but it worked." Nadia shook her head. "I was like a jealous schoolgirl."

Karen chuckled.

"I took him for granted," Nadia continued. "I had his heart for so long."

"What do you mean, for so long?" Maggie asked.

Nadia told them about the visits to her brother's monastery, the conversations, and the letters.

"You flirted with a _monk_ for years?" Sasha asked.

"I guess that's easier than turning a gay guy straight," Maggie noted. "Although I think half those monks _are_ gay."

"Only one," Nadia said.

Maggie's eyes widened. "Which one?"

Nadia's dark eyes twinkled. "It's more fun if you just keep guessing."

"Probably Brother Matthew," said Michonne, her eyes sparkling with wine. "He's hot. You know when they're _that_ good-looking, they have to be doing it to attract men."

Giggles erupted around the table.

"I used to think Daryl was gay," Maggie said.

"What?" Carol exclaimed.

"Well, he never made a move on any woman. In all that time. I just always thought that was weird."

"He was in love with Carol," Michonne said.

"Yeah, but he didn't even make a move on _her,_ " Maggie pointed out. "And she was sending out signals like a traffic light stuck on green."

"He's shy," Carol said.

"You don't expect a guy like that to be _shy_ ," Maggie told her.

"A guy like _what_?" Carol asked, feeling a little defensive of her man.

"A masculine, manly... _man_ ," Maggie said, and Vicky giggled.

Carol peered at Maggie over her wine glass. "So did _you_ flirt with my man, too?"

Maggie laughed. "I never even _thought_ about it. Daryl freaked me out when I first met him, to be honest. Before you sprinkled fairy dust on him."

"He wasn't anyone to fear ever," Carol insisted. "I was never afraid of him."

"Never?" Maggie asked skeptically.

"Okay, well, when he and Merle first rolled into our camp, before we met you? Yes, he scared me. But after a week when they still hadn't done anything except bring us food..." She shrugged. "Merle kept trying to start fights, and he always worried me, but not Daryl."

"So." Michonne put down her empty wine glass on the table and looked straight at Nadia. "You're about to have sex with a forty-seven-year-old virgin."

Nadia refilled her glass. "I don't mind. This way I can train him."

There were giggles all around, except for Vicky, who must have done enough lip reading to get the jist. They were talking about her uncle, after all, and she blushed.

"I have _never_ had sex with a virgin," Sasha announced.

"I've had sex with two," Maggie informed them. "On the plus side, they _are_ eager. And eager to please."

"Is Glenn one of those two?" Sasha asked.

"I won't talk about my husband behind his back. But let's just say...yes. Yes he was."

"I think what we _all_ want to know, though," Sasha looked at Carol and grinned, "is what Daryl is like in bed."

Carol flushed red.

"Yes, inquiring minds want to know," Michonne said as she refilled Carol's empty glass.

"I have no complaints." Carol smiled and sipped her wine, looking from face to laughing face, and feeling like, for the first time since marrying Ed, she had an actual social life, with real friends.

This moment of shared happiness reminded her of that innocent moment at the lake, when she'd been washing clothes with Andrea and those other women, all now dead. They'd made her laugh then, those ladies, made her feel a moment of belonging, until Ed hadn't been able to stand her temporary happiness. But Ed wasn't here now to break up this camaraderie with his fists.

"Does Daryl talk at all?" Michonne asked. "During?"

That was a bit intimate, even if Michonne _was_ buzzed. "Does _Rick_ use his handcuffs?" Carol shot back before taking a slow sip of wine.

"He lost those a year ago," Michonne said with a smile. "But there are always neckties."

Carol spluttered and grabbed a napkin to wipe the wine from her lips.

Michonne turned to Nadia. "I wonder how much _Lawrence_ is going to talk during."

"Oh dear God. He does talk a lot, doesn't he?" Nadia asked. "Well, as long as he does it in French. Lawrence is actually very sexy when he speaks in French."

"He speaks French?" Michonne asked.

"French, German, and Spanish. And he can read Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. His brain is enormous." The doctor took a sip of wine. "I suspect other things are as well."

Everyone but Vicky laughed. She tuned a darker shade of red.

"Guess you'll find out soon," Sasha said. She pointed a finger at Carol. "And you never answered Maggie's question! Does Daryl talk at all during?"

Carol smiled, ever so lightly. "Let's just say he's very talented with his tongue."

Laughter reverberated in the rafters of the high ceiling of the house.

It was another hour before the party broke up and Carol made her way home and crawled into bed next to Daryl, her head spinning slightly. "I'm surprised you got home before me," she told him.

"Why? You oughtta have guessed I throw a shit party. Y'all have fun at least?"

She hummed a little tune. She wasn't even sure what she was humming.

"Yer buzzed," he told her.

"Maybe."

"Wanna fool around?" Daryl kissed her neck.

"No," she said, rolling away from him and onto her side "I want to rest my eyes." As she closed them, she realized suddenly that this was the first time she'd blatantly turned down a _direct_ request for sex from Daryl. When she'd done that to Ed, he'd flown into a rage. For a sudden, strange, terrifying second, she felt the ancient fear, and her body tensed, the same way Daryl had once flinched when she'd bent to kiss his forehead.

The old, ugly feeling vanished when Daryl rolled on his side, pressed his back to hers, and muttered, "A'right. Yer loss."

[*]

"What are we doin' again?" Daryl asked as they walked toward the outdoor sanctuary the next evening.

"It's a dress rehearsal," Carol explained.

"We ain't dressin' nothin', though."

"Just pay attention to Father Gabriel's instructions," Carol told him. "He's going to tell you where to walk and where to stand and what to do at the wedding tomorrow."

"How many of these dress things have ya been to?"

"Just one. I was the maid of honor at my best friend's wedding." Ed had made her cut that friendship off after they were married, though, because Mary Ellen had gotten divorced three years later, and Ed didn't think Carol needed to be hanging out with any _loose women._

Carol expected to feel some hint of old pain in thinking about Ed, but she didn't. Maybe that was because too many greater pains had come and gone to eclipse it. Maybe it was because it was like looking at some other person in some other life. Or maybe it was because, right now, for the first time in a long time, she was actually happy. She reached out an took Daryl's hand. He didn't take his hand out of hers as they walked the rest of the way to the outdoor sanctuary, but he slid it slowly loose once they'd joined the others.

One of these days, Carol thought, she was just going to kiss him hard in front of the whole community, until he turned red from cheek to cheek.

[*]

The sun eased out from behind a cloud when Stone began playing the wedding march on violin. A cool, early spring breeze teased its way through the outdoor sanctuary. Daryl felt awkwardly on display as he stood behind Lawrence at the altar. He watched Carol precede Nadia down the aisle. The satiny, royal blue fabric of her dress curved down around her hips so that she looked like some kind of classic movie star. It squeezed her breasts together and pushed them up and showed off more cleavage than was comfortable for him to behold at the moment. He looked away from her and noticed he wasn't the only man noticing Carol. Tom Miller was taking in an eyeful. Daryl gritted his teeth.

Father Gabriel's wedding sermon seemed long-winded. The bride was stunning, Daryl supposed, in her white flowing dress with her bouquet of freshly plucked flowers, but he didn't really notice her. He kept stealing glances at Carol in that damn bridesmaid's dress. He wasn't used to seeing her in something like that. He knew she was pretty, but... _damn._ Maybe fancy clothes weren't so stupid after all.

"The rings," Father Gabriel said with emphasis, like maybe it wasn't the first time he'd said it. There were a few giggles as Daryl fumbled for the rings in his pocket. Daryl couldn't tell if Lawrence was annoyed or amused or a little of both when he slid the rings into the bridegroom's hand.

[*]

The reception was held in the shade of a large, makeshift tent. Folding tables had been set along the left perimeter with finger foods, punch, and water, and folding chairs lined the right side. In the center was a neatly raked dirt dance floor. Music emanated from one corner, as Stone played fiddle, Vicky guitar, and Brother Matthew the flute. While Nadia and Lawrence shared their first dance, Brothers William, Matthew, and Thomas sang a love song as if they were members of a university boys' a cappella group instead of middle-aged men wearing cassocks.

Carol was enjoying the way Daryl looked in his tuxedo. He carried it somewhat awkwardly - he obviously wasn't used to playing a leading man role - but it still showed off how handsome he really was. "Who knew Lawrence could dance so well?" Carol asked.

"Everyone," Daryl muttered. "He's been braggin' 'bout it all week."

Next, Carol watched with some pride in her work as the wedding couple cut the cake she had baked and decorated and topped with real flowers. It had to be cut into tiny slivers to feed this mass of people, and Kendra's mother saw to that while the champagne was opened and poured. "This means it's time for you to make your toast," Carol whispered to Daryl.

He looked adorably nervous as he walked up next to the bridal couple and cleared his throat. He could kill a half dozen walkers in under ninety seconds, but ask him to give a ninety second toast...Daryl raised his champagne glass. "I ain't...uh...much for words."

There were some chuckles around the tent.

"When I's a boy," he began, "I was trackin' this buck. Alone in the woods, just me and my crossbow. I ain't never caught a deer before and I was gettin' sh - "

Carol gave him a warning look.

"- crap for it from my brother."

She smiled at his change to a milder profanity.

"So I wanted this one somethin' awful," Daryl continued. "Wanted to bring those antlers home and show him I could do it. And I saw it in a kind of clearin', just standin' there, all strong and proud like. And it looked up and saw me. Didn't run. Got my bow ready, still didn't run. Had to know why, so I crept up a bit closer and saw it was standin' over a wounded doe, like it was standin' guard, like it weren't never gonna leave her." Daryl chewed for a second on his bottom lip before continuing. "Most beautiful thing I ever saw in my life, so beautiful I couldn't shoot it, and so I just crept away. Anyhow, I only say all that to say..." He nodded at Lawrence and Nadia, "y'all got somethin' beautiful, too. And I wish you the best. And, uh...congrats." He raised his glass, as they did theirs, and there was clanking and cheers.

Daryl drained his champagne quickly.

[*]

A snake had once curled itself around Daryl's neck in his sleep. It wasn't poisonous, and it wasn't a constrictor, but Daryl had awoken in terror, certain it was going to choke him to death, and he'd ripped it off and flung it far. That's how he felt about his bowtie now. Daryl loosened it, dragged it from his neck, and slipped it in his pants pocket as he watched people dance. "Hate this damn monkey suit," he muttered.

"You look handsome," Carol told him.

"Look like an idiot," he said.

"Oh, I don't know. Kind of turns me on."

"Yeah?" He looked around. He took her hand and started to tug. "Wanna go back to the house?" He couldn't help the picture that was playing out in his mind...he imagined taking her back to their bedroom, yanking that dress up to her waist, pushing her against the wall, and ripping off her panties. Then, with her back to the wall and her legs wrapped around him, he'd screw her good and hard until she was bucking and screaming his name. Daryl knew that little fantasy wasn't how things would _actually_ play out. Her arm was still in that damn sling, and, even if it weren't, Carol needed more tenderness than being thrown against a wall. But he didn't much care how they had sex - just so long as they did.

She slid her hand out of his. "No, we're staying for the whole reception. It's our duty."

"Could sneak off for a bit."

She laughed. "Simmer down," she told him. "Aren't you going to ask me to dance?"

"Can't dance."

She glanced down at her sling. "It's not like I'm going to be super graceful either. Come on. I want to dance."

"Nah," he said. "Ain't got a clue how."

"Then do you mind if I dance with Tom?"

Daryl _did_ mind. He minded very much. But he said, "Nah. 'Course not." He watched her slip away and ask Tom Miller to dance.

She was more graceful than she'd let on. Or maybe Tom was just good at leading. Daryl kept his eyes on them the entire time they danced to make sure the man didn't try to put his hands anywhere too intimate. Tom caught Daryl's eyes once and looked quickly away. Then he put a little more distance between his body and Carol's.

[*]

When Carol came back to stand beside Daryl, she teasingly bumped his shoulder with her good shoulder. "I think you scared Tom."

"How?"

"With that surly look of yours."

He grunted.

"Are you jealous?" she said asked an amused smile.

"Ain't any bit jealous. Just don't like other men checkin' you out. And he was doin' it the entire weddin'."

"I doubt that."

"Then you's blind, woman."

She chuckled. "Yeah, you don't sound at all jealous." Carol looked out over the dance floor. "I see Stone hasn't wasted any time acclimating to the community." The young man was taking a break from playing fiddle and was now dancing with Enid. Vicky had abandoned her guitar as well to dance with her uncle, and only the four monks offered the soundtrack now with flute, guitar, and a duet.

Carl lingered at the periphery of the tent, watching Stone and Enid with a frown.

"Poor Carl," Carol said. "He should ask Vicky to dance, but I bet he won't. He's still so in love with Enid."

"Kid's got to learn people don't stay together forever."

Carol tensed. Why had he said that? She'd been having such a good time, and now..."Such a romantic thing to say at a wedding, Daryl."

He shrugged.

"Really?" she asked. "After that toast you gave? _That's_ how you feel? You don't think Nadia and Lawrence will be together until death do they part?"

"Wasn't talkin' 'bout them. Reckon they will be. Both of 'em are damn religious 'bout the whole marriage thing."

"What about Glenn and Maggie?"

"Glenn ain't gonna do better than Maggie."

"Abraham and Sasha?"

"Nah. He's not a stayer."

"What makes you say that?" Carol's eyes followed Sasha and Abraham on the dance floor.

"Left Rosita for her, didn't he?"

"Maybe because Rosita wasn't the one."

"Yeah, well, soon as someone he likes better comes along, Sasha ain't gonna be the one no more neither."

"You don't give him much credit," Carol said. "He loves her. They're going to have a child together."

"Rosita was loyal to him. Would have died for him. _Did_ die for him in the War. But he just up and left her. Just like that. Didn't even _try_. Wasn't even sorry really."

"I thought you liked Abraham," Carol said.

"Like him just fine. Know he'll cover my ass in a fight. But I ain't gotta be his girlfriend."

Carol watched a smiling Rick twirl an even more broadly smiling Michonne on the dance floor. She nodded in their direction. "What about Rick and Michonne?" she asked.

"Give 'em 50/50."

Carol laughed and shook her head. She peered at him. A hand on her sling, she dared to ask, "And what about us?"

He jerked his head abruptly toward her. There was confusion and something like worry in his eyes.

"What odds do you give us?" she clarified.

"That's up to you."

"Why do you say that?"

"'Cause I ain't never leavin' ya. Less'n ya _tell_ me to leave."

Carol sucked in her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. She let it go when it was steady and said, quietly, "I thought you didn't believe in promises and vows."

"Ain't a promise," he told her. "Just a fact."

Carol put a hand on his cheek and leaned in to kiss him. She kissed him deeply and long enough that people noticed. Rick stopped dancing to clap. Michonne whooped. Daryl pulled away, his face flushed like a ripened tomato.

"What the hell are y'all lookin' at?" he barked.

The dancing resumed and, with it, laughter.


	48. Chapter 48

Daryl thought the reception was never going to end. He had to drink glass after glass of champagne and wine just to push through it. He lingered on the sidelines, watching silently while Carol flitted around socializing and dancing. To his relief, she didn't take another turn with Tom. Instead she danced one by one with Glenn, Rick, Father Gabriel, and finally Carl. Two taken men, a priest, and a teenage boy - good choices, as far as Daryl was concerned.

The only woman dancing more than Carol was Karen. Father Gabriel had just asked her for a second time. "I think he's sweet on her," Carol told Daryl when she paused in her socializing long enough to drink a second glass of champagne beside him.

"What, think he's gonna renounce his vows too?"

"Episcopal priests can date, Daryl. Marry. They usually do."

"Hmm." He tried to remember where Father Gabriel's hands were when he'd been dancing with Carol.

"You ever go to a barn dance?" she asked him.

"Me? Nah. Mostly grew up in the backwoods. Weren't no barn dances. Huntin', not farmin'."

"Well, we had this little house in a small town surrounded by farms. Someone must have had a barn dance every month, and boys would come from all over the county. My father was a long haul truck driver, and whenever he was out of town, my mother would let me go, if I promised not to tell him and I promised to be good."

"Were ya good?" he asked.

Her eyes twinkled mischievously over her champagne glass as she took a small sip. "I loved those dances. I was a different person back then. I guess I've been several different people in my life."

Carol had so many layers of personality that Daryl thought he might never see them all unraveled. He loved that about her, loved the way she could be a hundred different things, and most of all, the way she could be so strong and so soft at the same time. He could be her protector and she could still be his match. He could need her and she could still need him. She made him feel like a good man but also long to be a better one. He wanted to tell her all that, but the thoughts were like a wild jumble in his mind, and he didn't actually have words for them.

She smiled. "Sure you won't dance with me?"

Maybe Daryl had earned his place, but he was still something of an outsider. Sometimes he forgot that, and sometimes - like now - it struck him like a slap in the face. Unlike all these people here, he'd never been domesticated. He didn't know how to dance or make conversation. At dinner he often forgot to wait until everyone was seated to eat. He left blood on the porch, tracked mud in the kitchen, and didn't remember to clean under his fingernails. "Be an embarrassment to ya."

"Don't be silly. You could never be an embarrassment to me." She kissed his cheek. "Should I ask Tom to dance again then?"

His eyes darkened.

She laughed. "What don't you like about him?"

Tom was everything Daryl wasn't: clean-cut, all American, well spoken. That's why he'd been so quickly approved to replace Spencer on the Council. But Tom wasn't a stuffed shirt either. He was capable with his hands - a master carpenter. Tom was the guy who had been quarterback _and_ valedictorian in high school. He'd volunteered with Habitat for Humanity for three years and had decided to become an apprentice instead of going to college. "Don't dislike anythin' 'bout him. 'Cept the way he's been lookin' at ya."

"And how's that?"

"Like a lightbulb went off in his head and he suddenly realized how sexy ya are."

Carol chuckled and shook her head. "Tom's not interested in me, Daryl. There are five single women here."

What the hell difference did that make, Daryl thought, when there were ten single men? And that wasn't counting the monks. "Ain't none of them women wearin' that getup." His eyes tilted quickly over her, head to toe and back to her face.

She looked down at her dress. "Oh, you like my getup? Is it getting you up?"

His lips curved slightly on one side. "Stop."

She smiled. "Would it really bother you if I danced with Tom?"

"Dance with him if ya want. Do whatever the hell you want. I ain't in charge of ya."

"No, you're not, but, believe it or not, I respect your feelings."

"A'right," Daryl admitted, "I don't want you to dance with Tom. But I ain't gonna pitch a fit if ya do."

"Well, I haven't danced with Lawrence yet. I suppose he's harmless enough. Probably not going to try to take me home on his wedding night." She handed him her empty champagne glass and made her way over to the bridegroom.

The pace of the music picked up, and Ethan got a sort of congo line going around the periphery with Sofie, Kendra, Jonathan, and even little Judith, who toddled giggling after them.

At last, the bridal couple prepared to leave. The women gathered around Nadia while Rick stood next to Daryl with his arms crossed over his chest. The bouquet soared through the air and, after a wild scrambling, landed in Michonne's hands. Michonne waved it in Rick's direction across the dance floor.

"Do you think that means she _wants_ to get married?" Rick asked. "I mean, she's smiling, but it's really more of a _smirk_."

"Dunno," Daryl muttered, "ask _her_ if ya wanna know."

"I can't do it right after Lawrence's wedding. I'll look like a copy cat."

Lawrence and Nadia were disappearing. "This means we can go now, right?" Daryl asked.

"Hell no," Rick said. "After the bridal couple leaves, the party goes on. Probably another hour at least."

"Jesus."

Rick chuckled. "Don't worry. Brother William brought a keg for when we run out of wine." He patted Daryl on the shoulder. "You'll survive." Michonne danced toward Rick, in a sexy shimmy, and he grinned. "Gotta get back out there." He joined her on the dance floor.

Daryl was alone for awhile, until Carl Grimes stood next to him and sipped a glass of white wine very slowly. Daryl wondered how long he'd been nursing that. "Thinking of asking Enid to dance," he said.

"Don't torture yerself," Daryl advised him.

"She doesn't have anyone to dance with when Stone's playing."

"He ain't playin' anymore."

Stone was at the drink table, where Brother William was tapping the keg and Morgan was helpfully clearing away the empty wine bottles. A minute later, Stone was standing beside Carl and Daryl, a cup of beer in each of his hands. "How old is that guy who just asked Vicky to dance?" he asked, nodding to the dance floor where one of the townies, a man on the construction crew, was swaying with a hand on each of Vicky's hips and her hands on his shoulders.

"I don't know," Carl said peering at the two cups Stone held, obviously peeved that one of them was probably intended for Enid. "Twenty-eight maybe."

Stone made a displeased sound.

"It's only ten year's difference," Carl said. "That's not half plus six."

"What?" Stone asked.

"Half plus...Never mind."

"Go cut in," Stone told him.

"What?" Carl asked.

"I don't like the way he's looking at her," Stone said. "Go cut in. Please? Would you?"

"Why should I do _you_ any favors?" Carl asked.

"No reason, I guess," Stone said, "except you're a nice guy."

"Fine." The Grimes boy made his way across the dance floor and hesitantly asked to cut in. The other man stepped back and let him dance with Vicky. Carl held her hands awkwardly and kept a noticeable space between them.

Stone walked away to find Enid, and Carol entered the empty space he'd left. "Carl's doing what my mother always told me to do at the barn dances."

"What's that?" Daryl asked.

"Leave plenty of room for the Holy Spirit."

"Pfft."

"Well, if you're not going to dance with me," she said, "I'm asking Eugene. You mind?"

"Pretty sure Eugene ain't much competition."

"Oh, I don't know. He got a new hair gel, and that mullet's really coming along nicely."

Daryl snorted, and when Carol wandered off in search of her dance partner, he headed for the keg.

[*]

When the reception began breaking up beneath the setting sun, and the clean-up crew was fast at work, Rick volunteered to "clean out" the keg. "After party at my house," he told Carol and Daryl.

"I dunno," Daryl said.

"We can't go back to the house yet," Carol said. "I promised Nadia they had until nine before anyone would be home. And I already sent Sofie to sleep over at Kendra's."

When they were at Rick's house, Carl carried a sleeping Judith to her bedroom while Rick and Michonne claimed the love seat and snuggled up. Vicky and Stone sat on opposite ends of the couch, and Carol took the arm chair. Daryl shed his coat and unbuttoned and rolled up his shirt sleeves before slumping down onto the floor in front of Carol and leaning back against her knees.

When Carl rejoined them, he sat in the only open spot, between Vicky and Stone. Vicky signed something, and her brother translated. "She said you're little sister is really cute."

"Yeah," Carl agreed and nodded.

Vicky picked up her guitar and began to play. Meanwhile Carol toyed affectionately with Daryl's hair. She was a little surprised that he wasn't brushing her off since they were in company, but he seemed to be enjoying her touch, and he looked a little sleepy.

"You're good," Carl told Vicky, speaking a little loudly and slowly. Vicky looked at his lips, her brows furrowed in puzzlement.

"It's better if you just speak normally," Stone told Carl. "Talk slowly like that, and she can't read your lips as well. And raising your voice obviously doesn't help."

Carl flushed and looked angry and embarrassed at the same time, but he said the words again in a normal tone. "You're good. You play really well."

Vicky signed to her brother. Stone said, "She wants to know what kind of music you like."

"I don't know," Carl said, sounding a little flustered.

Vicky watched his lips as he spoke, smiled, and then signed to her brother again.

"She likes to play classical guitar," Stone said. "She wants to know if you want to hear classical guitar."

"Yeah," Carl said, nodding. "Sure, why not?"

Vicky smiled and began playing again. Carl watched her fingers on the guitar, looking honestly impressed.

The adults talked, except for Daryl, who just kept emptying cups of beer. Carol thought the social strain of the day had probably exhausted his introverted patience. After awhile, Vicky set the guitar down against the couch and signed to her brother.

"Vicky wants to know when we can go back and go to bed. She's tired."

Carol glanced at her watch. They'd been here for a good while now. "I guess we can head home." Daryl was wobbly on his feet when he stood up, and she put her free arm around him to steady him.

The house was quiet when they got home, and no light or sound seeped out from under Lawrence and Nadia's door downstairs. "She must have wiped him out," Stone quipped. Vicky signed to him, and he replied, "I do _not_ snore, but I'm glad you have your own room now, too." The siblings headed upstairs to their separate rooms.

As soon as Carol shut the door to their bedroom, Daryl's lips came down on hers, and he stumble-stepped her against the wall. He tasted like beer, and he smelled like it, too, and she was suddenly reminded of all the nights Ed had come home drunk, pawed at her, and then got angry when he couldn't perform.

"Ya look..." Daryl was swaying and grinning as his eyes swept over her. "Damn, woman. Ya look... _hot damn_...in that."

"You look pretty handsome yourself, but we better get you to bed."

"' _Zactly_ what I'm thinkin'."

"Not what I meant. You're drunk. You need to sleep it off." She led him over to the bed, where he fell back on his ass and chuckled. She slid off his already loosened tie and then began to undo his shirt for him. Carol had grown quite adept at sliding buttons through holes one handed.

"Still horny?" he asked. "Tux turnin' ya on?"

He _did_ look good in that tux, like a roughened Cary Grant, but she wasn't interested in fooling around with him in his current state. "Daryl, sweetheart, I don't think you could even manage to get it up in your condition." That wasn't something she could have ever told Ed, not without a slap across the face.

"Betcha I could. Ya just got to put your sweet, hot mouth 'round it." He stuck his tongue out and wiggled it. "Lick it real good."

"As romantic as that proposal is, I think I'm going to pass."

She helped him out of his shirt. Daryl struggled a little around the sleeve, but eventually tossed it on the floor. Then he kicked his shoes off sloppily. She began unbuckling his belt. "Oh yeah," he said. "Ya gonna get on yer knees? Been waitin' for this." The other night, he'd probably wanted that blow job far more than he'd let on.

"You are _not_ a charming drunk," she told him. "And you're about to go down yourself - as in _pass out_. So I'm just going to lay you down."

She slid off his belt but decided not to bother with the pants before helping him sideways onto the bed. With his head on the pillow, he looked at her between heavy, half-closed lids. "Really wanted to fuck ya in that dress," he said.

"Well, then, I'll let you wear it tomorrow."

In his drunken state, he didn't get the joke. "Not _me_ in the dress!"

"I know what you meant."

"Yer tits look so goddamn good in that, Carol. Wanna cum right 'tween 'em." He reached out and ran a finger from her bare neckline down over the front of her dress, tracing the valley of her cleavage.

"Shhhh..." Carol told him, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Mhmmmm..." He closed his eyes and let his hand fall limply to the bed. "Wanna fuck ya in that dress," he mumbled. "'Ginst the wall. Pound that sweet, wet..." He trailed off and fell silent.

She took her hand away from his cheek.

He snored.

[*]

Steam rose from the coffee on the table, curling over the now nearly empty plates. Carol had done her best to turn the Spam into country ham for this wedding brunch. Lawrence was humming the entire time he ate, but Carol suspected things other than her cooking were responsible for his happiness this morning.

"Where's Daryl?" Nadia asked. "He's usually up at the crack of dawn."

"Still sleeping it off," Carol said.

Lawrence wiped his mouth and set his napkin on his plate. "Where are the kids?"

"Already at their jobs," Carol replied. "Sofie's at Kendra's."

"I need to get to work myself." Nadia stood and took hold of her plate.

"My love, it's our honeymoon," Lawrence said. "You don't have to work _today._ "

"We're behind gates in a 58-person town, darling. What exactly are we going to _do_ on this honeymoon?"

Lawrence grinned. "I could think of a thing or two."

"There's plenty of time for more of that later. I'm going to work." She bent to kiss him on her way out and left her plate in the sink.

Lawrence rose and washed both of their plates. Carol tried to imagine Daryl doing the dishes for her and couldn't. She didn't mind traditional roles, and Daryl certainly did his part by hunting, but she didn't want to fall into the same unquestioning patterns she'd fallen into with Ed. And one of those patterns was to clear his plate for him in the morning while avoiding any mention of how he'd behaved when he was drunk.

"Guess I better go do something productive, too," Lawrence said after turning off the water. "Thank you for a lovely breakfast."

Carol rose, made more coffee, and poured herself a second cup. She was just sitting down again when Daryl, looking ragged and hungover, entered the breakfast nook. "Anythin' left?"

"Coffee's in the press on the counter. There's grits." When he pulled back his chair, as though he was about to sit down and expected her to get them, she said, "You have legs."

He went to scoop himself a bowl and pour a cup. He sat down across from her, set his coffee cup and bowl on the table with a clank, and started shoveling the grits greedily into his mouth.

She watched him for a moment before she asked, "Do you even remember a word you said to me last night?"

He began chewing slowly. He swallowed hard, as if the warm cereal was stuck in his throat. "Was I a mean drunk?"

"No. Not mean. Just _dirty_."

"Well, whatever I said, didn't mean it."

"Oh, I think you meant it."

He set his spoon in his bowl and looked at her nervously. "What I say?"

"What you wanted to do to me. And what you wanted me to do to you. Only a bit more crassly than you probably would have if you were sober."

"Ya angry?"

She shook her head. "No. But I thought it needed to be mentioned."

Looking relieved, he began eating again. He paused, looked at her cautiously, and said, "Sorry."

"I know you're not an altar boy, Daryl." She smiled over her coffee cup at him. "And you've been sweet to me." She was still thinking about that beautiful thing he'd said to her at the reception, about never leaving her. "I think I can give you the benefit of the doubt this one time."

"Mmhm,"

"This _one_ time," she emphasized.

"Message received." He swallowed another bite of grits and then asked, "Was I that bad?"

"No, but..." She looked into her cup.

"Ed got drunk a lot," he said. "And he weren't nice to ya when he did."

She nodded.

"Look, I didn't mean to drink _that_ much. Lost track."

"I know it was a lot of effort for you, all that socializing yesterday."

"Got that right," he said. "Wanna haul up in a cave now."

"Maybe you should spend the day hunting. Alone."

He nodded. He studied her across the table, his eyes hesitant and tender. "Know what I like about ya?"

"What's that?" Carol asked.

"Ya get me."

"Mmmhm...Well." She blew across the top of her coffee. "I figure that goes both ways."


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N:** If you like my fanfic and want to try one of my novels, I write under the name of Molly Taggart, and I have six books. You can find them at Amazon by searching for my name. My novel "Piling On" is on a Kindle discount deal today through February 8 for 99 cents.

[*]

Daryl loved the smell of the forest best in fall, and the taste of the air best in winter, but in spring he loved the sound of resurrection - new life emerging from its winter slumber.

As he followed the trail of a deer, he noticed another pair of tracks on the forest floor. A walker, he supposed, without examining them closely. He was interested in the deer. It was an hour before he found it, sipping from the stream. Its ears flattened back at the sound of his approach, and it raised its head, but before it could flee, he had his first arrow in it.

Later, when he was pulling the arrows out, he heard a twig snap and whirled around in every direction. He saw nothing unusual. Daryl had probably lost his chance at bagging a second deer, but the town would still feast on venison steak tonight.

He pulled out his hunting knife and began field dressing his kill.

[*]

Carol felt like a great weight had been lifted from her when she watched Nadia toss her sling in the to-launder bin of the infirmary. "Free at last, free at last. Thank God almighty..."

Nadia laughed. "Just don't overdo it! Don't go shooting AK-47s this afternoon. Ease back into it."

"Yes, doctor," Carol agreed, and Nadia rolled her eyes as if she didn't believe her. As she slid off the infirmary table, Carol asked, "How was the wedding night?"

Nadia chuckled. "We had too much champagne, and we both fell asleep before we could get very far." So Carol hadn't needed to force Daryl to stay out partying after all. "But we woke up around four in the morning, and...well, we never went back to sleep."

[*]

"Wish I could have caught it with you," Ethan said as he tore into his venison steak. The town was eating outside tonight, with most of the people sitting on the pews as a fire flickered in the pit at the back of the outdoor sanctuary.

"Gotta help fence in that crop land tomorrow," Daryl told Ethan. "Then I'm goin' on a run the next day. But I'll take ya huntin' Tuesday mornin'. We'll get that wild boar."

"I've got school on Tuesdays. Think you can get my mom to let me out of it?"

"Nice try, my boy, but no. We'll go Friday."

Ethan frowned.

Daryl felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back and saw Nadia. "Thank you for the deer," she said. "Lawrence and I are heading back. We'll probably be turning in early."

"We'll _definitely_ be turning in early," Lawrence said as he drew up beside her. "Nice toast, by the way. Who knew you were an orator?"

[*]

The field crickets had begun to chirp unusually early this spring, despite the mild weather. Maybe the new world confused them. As Daryl paced the wall, he found their song soothing and haunting at the same time, maybe because theirs was the only lullaby he could remember hearing after his nana died. Nana Willie Mae had passed away that summer before he started first grade. He'd been the one to find her, in the trailer three doors down from theirs, slumped over the breakfast table, morning paper open to the movie review section, her light gone out like the fireflies he'd once trapped in a mason jar and left too long. Nana was the one who had told Daryl the crickets were singing love songs, crying for a mate. Nana said that if he listened real close, he'd learn the secret of happiness. Some nights when he slept outside, just to get away from the noise of his parents fighting, he would listen hard to that tune, straining his ears in desperate hope.

Carl shifted his worn sheriff's hat back and scratched his forehead. "So I was thinking...Maybe you could pick me up that book on sign language you were talking about?"

"Sure. Could ask Stone to teach you, too."

Carl huffed. "I'm not asking Stone. I hate that guy."

"Gotta let that go. World's too small."

"There's no one you hate?" Carl asked. "In all of Alexandria?"

Daryl looked out over the wall at the quiet tree line beyond. "Plenty of people _annoy_ me, but ain't no one here's worth _hatin_ '. We'd banish 'em if they was. Y'all should make nice. Yer gonna be the future leaders of this town, a few years from now."

"Why? Where are you gonna be in a few years?"

"Retired," Daryl said. "On a beach in Florida."

Carl laughed. "Okay, say I _do_ ask Stone to teach me sign language. You really think that's a way to _make nice_? He has no idea I kind of like Vicky right now. That's going to make it obvious. I mean, you're basically saying I should ask him to help me flirt with his _sister._ "

"Hmmm...Didn't think of that."

"Because you've never had a sister," Carl said. "But when Judith's a teenager, if some guy comes to me asking for my help to get with her..." He shook his head.

"Yeah, maybe ask Lawrence, then," Daryl said.

"That's even worse. He's her _uncle_. He's the closest thing to a father she's got."

Daryl nodded. "I'll see if I can find - " He stopped talking, grabbed the binoculars that were hung around his neck, and whirled around toward the town. A shout had arisen somewhere in Alexandria, followed by the slam of a front door.

Through the binoculars, Daryl watched Glenn run through the streets until he arrived at their house. He pounded on the front door. Soon, he disappeared inside, and, two minutes later, Nadia was stepping out on the porch, pulling her doctor's coat on over her wrinkled, hastily pulled-on clothes. She held a medical bag in one hand.

[*]

Carol stirred when Daryl slid into bed and put an arm around her. She'd been awoken awhile ago by a pounding noise, but when it stopped, she drifted back to sleep. "Not tonight," she muttered. "Too tired."

"Maggie's havin' the baby."

Carol's eyes shot open. "What?" She sat up straight. "I have to go help!"

"Thought you was too tired."

"Not for that!"

"Go back to sleep. Nadia's already there."

"I want to be there if they need anything. This is..." She bounced a little on the bed, smiling broadly. "Maggie's baby's coming!"

[*]

When Carol arrived at the house, Nadia told her they needed more clean towels, so she ran back to her own house for them. At one point, she went to the kitchen to get Maggie some crushed ice. Glenn wasn't much help. He was such a nervous mess that Maggie yelled at him to leave the room. Abraham and Sasha, who shared the house and had been awoken by the tumult, waited with him in the living room.

At 1:45 AM, baby Hershel came screaming into the world, with a shock of wavy black hair across his forehead, wide, brown eyes, chubby cheeks, and the faintest hint of tan to his skin. Carol went to get Glenn, who started laughing giddily when he held his newborn son for the first time.

Nadia extended him a pair of scissors. "What's that for?" he asked.

"Don't you want to cut the cord?"

Sasha popped her head in the door. "I got the food scale you asked for, doctor." She came inside and oohed over the baby while Nadia weighed and measured it. Then the doctor returned baby Hershel to Maggie. The little thing rooted for her breast.

Glenn smiled down at it. "Lawrence brought over some cigars," he said. "He and Abraham are trying to get me to smoke one."

"You don't smoke," Maggie said.

"Yeah, that's what I told them, but..."

"Just go," Maggie said. "Go man-bond over your ability to procreate."

"You don't mind?"

Maggie was clearly exhausted, her brow slick with sweat. "Just go."

He left the room hesitantly.

"That went very smoothly," Nadia said. "You didn't tear. The baby seems to be in good health. I'll check in on him tomorrow around noon, but I'm going to get cleaned up now. Send for me if you have any concerns before then." She turned to Carol, "Believe it or not, this was my first delivery, so I very much appreciate your help. Surgeons don't get to do a lot of deliveries. But I get the feeling you've done this before."

"Only once. For a neighbor." Carol had been married three years at that point and was desperate to get pregnant herself. A terrible thunderstorm had been raging for over an hour. The phones were out, and water was flooding the country roads when Mr. Washington came running desperately up their gravel driveway to beg for help. Ed was snoring soundly on the living room couch. Carol threw on her raincoat and boots and followed the man through the mud and rain and thrashing winds, jumping every time the thunder boomed or the lightening cracked. "Maybe twice, if you count my own home birth."

Home birth was something of a euphemism. The term made it sound like she was attended by her husband and midwives. In reality, Carol had started having contractions in the middle of the night and woken up Ed, but he'd told her to go back to sleep until they were "bad enough to bother him." She hadn't wanted to anger him, so she'd waited a long time, bent over the bathroom sink, counting the time between them, wondering - is this bad enough yet for Ed? Then she'd felt the overwhelming urge to push and realized it was too late to go anywhere.

After Nadia left and Sasha went to join the men, Carol remained for awhile by Maggie's bedside. The baby seemed uninterested in nursing now, after a few lazy suckles. "Want to hold him?" Maggie asked.

"If it's okay with you."

"Of course it is." Maggie handed the baby over.

Carol was grateful to be free of her sling, and she took the little thing into her newly liberated arms. "I remember when Sophia was born. She didn't cry right away. I was so scared...and then...I heard it. That beautiful wail." She looked up from the baby to Maggie, who was looking at her sympathetically. "And I knew my life would never be the same again." Carol's eyes fell back to the sleeping infant. "There's this phrase. I don't know who said it. But it goes - having a child is like deciding forever to allow your heart to go walking around outside your body." Carol ran a single finger over the shock of black hair. "It's true." She handed the baby back to his mother and wiped a single tear from beneath her eye. "Can I get you anything?"

"You've already done enough, Carol. Sasha's here to help if I need anything. Not to mention my husband. Go home. Get some rest."

[*]

When Carol returned home, Daryl was on his back and sprawled out across the entire bed like a crucified Jesus. She had to poke him awake and get him to move over. "Baby a'right?" he asked.

"Yes. It's a boy. 8 pounds, 4 ounces."

"Slanty eyed?"

"Daryl!"

He laughed.

She frowned. "I ought to spank you for that."

He pulled her back against his chest. "Whatever turns ya on." He kissed her cheek, then her ear. "Just had a dream 'bout ya." His hand was creeping up toward her breast, so she put a hand over it to still it. "Not now."

"Why?"

"Because I just helped deliver a baby and I'm not exactly in the mood."

"Anythin' I could do to _get_ ya in the mood?"

"Yes. You can listen to me rave about the baby for the next five minutes, then kiss me good night, let me sleep in, make me a late breakfast in the morning, and then _maybe_ I'll be in the mood tomorrow night."

Daryl sighed and rolled on his back. "Go on then. Rave."

Daryl "Mhmmed" as she told him all about the newborn. When she was done, she settled her head against the hard pillow of his chest and thought of Sophia, of the way that little girl had brought light into her dark marriage, and how she'd sometimes sat in the otherwise lonely mornings, just counting her baby's fingers and toes, over and over - her little girl, who had been torn apart by walkers.

Daryl must have sensed her change in mood, because he asked, "Ya a'ight?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice thick with memory, loss, and longing. "I'm happy for Maggie and Glenn."

He encircled her tightly with his arms. "I love ya," he whispered. It was only the second time he'd ever said it, and maybe that's why it still had so much power to make her heart spasm. "Get some sleep."

Carol closed her eyes and there, in the warmth of his embrace, weary from the night, she faded into a peaceful slumber.

[*]

Carol stirred awake when she felt the bed shift. Daryl, fully dressed, boots and all, was sitting on the end of it. Light was streaming through the open blinds of the window. He must have pulled them to wake her. He pointed to the nightstand. She turned to see a cup of coffee, a bowl of dry cornflakes, and two fresh strawberries. "Best I can do. Out of powdered milk. Don't get our ration 'til Monday. Council meetin' in ten minutes. Want me to start warmin' up yer shower?"

"Please."

"Want me to join ya?"

She smiled. "Nice try. But we don't have enough time for that."

"I can be quick as a rabbit."

She laughed. "I don't think you should brag about that, Pookie."

His mouth twitched in that bashful, half-smile she knew was only for her. "Meet ya over there. Let 'em know yer runnin' late." He kissed her on his way out.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N:** I forgot to mention, my novel "The Caterer's Husband" is also on a Kindle discount deal today (February 7) for just 99 cents. It's a humorous, literary romance. You can find it on Amazon under my penname of Molly Taggart.

[*]

Carol eased quietly into Rick's living room after the Council was assembled, and assumed her place beside Daryl at the mantle. Glenn was understandably absent, but the water engineer, Damien Hamilton, and the power engineer, Jake Wellington, were present to make a report.

"There's too much consumption," Damien told them. "We've been growing as a community. We've had less rain than usual, and we're going to need irrigation to grow crops in the summer and fall. We're on the verge of a serious shortage."

Carol felt suddenly guilty about her recent hot shower.

"The same is true for power," Jake told them. "We're about to have brown outs. We need more consumption restrictions, and we need to think about additional power sources. I want to build a windmill."

"And I want to try digging another well," Damien insisted.

The Council voted to enact a lights-off rule from seven in the evening until eight in the morning. Candles and oil lamps only. No plugged-in electronics. No cooking. Everyone should limit themselves to two showers a week, unless they were covered in blood or mud from some hunting or laboring job. No watering any non-food plants.

"And if it's yellow, let it mellow," Damien suggested.

Rick looked puzzled. "What?"

"He means if yer just takin' a piss, don't flush," Daryl said.

Michonne smirked. "Who would have guessed you were an environmentalist, Daryl?"

"I ain't. I'm a _conservationist_. Like everyone else who grew up poor as shit."

"When you go on that run tomorrow," Rick told Daryl and Michonne, "sheet metal and tools are a priority. Get a list of construction supplies from them." He pointed to the engineers.

[*]

"Turn on the water," Rick told Michonne from where he lay beneath the sink. Water splattered from the curve of the pipe onto his face. "Off! Off! Off!"

Michonne chuckled and smacked the faucet off. "Maybe we should get Damien to do this."

"He's a water engineer. Not a plumber."

"I think he could handle it."

" _I_ can handle it," Rick insisted. The sounds of tinkering wafted through the kitchen, intermixed with mild curses. "Turn it on again." Rick let out an exultant, "Yes!" when the pipe did not leak. He slid out from beneath the sink and stood with a smile. "See. Told you so."

Michonne hooked a finger through his belt loop. "My sexy plumber. Want to come upstairs and fix my pipes?"

"Worst metaphor ever. But...yes."

She laughed and turned, and Rick chased her up the stairs. As the bedroom door slammed, Judith awoke from her afternoon nap and wailed. Rick sighed.

[*]

"Can I go see the baby?" Sofie asked as she plucked a ripe tomato. At least the greenhouse shouldn't lose power, warmed as it was by solar panels. And, now that it was spring, there was less threat of frost.

"Maybe in a day or two, when they've had a chance to get more used to him." Carol added a tomato to the bushel.

"That's not ripe," Sofie said.

"Well, that's how you make fried green tomatoes." She'd promised them to Daryl before he left for his run tomorrow. "Daryl loves them."

She was learning all the little things about him these days, and, in that way, their relationship was running in reverse. Usually a woman dated a man and, through small talk, learned the surface things - favorite food, favorite color, favorite movie. Then, only after they'd been together for a long while - maybe only after they were married - did she see the deeper things - his old wounds, secret fears, hidden hatreds, fond hopes...his true character. But Carol and Daryl had glimpsed into one another's souls long before she'd learned he loved fried green tomatoes, collard greens, and peach cobbler, that his favorite movie was _Unforgiven_ , or that he'd had a terrible crush on his second grade teacher. Who knew? Maybe they'd go all the way back to the beginning, and one day he'd take her on a first date.

"I bet the baby's cute," Sofie said. "I always wanted a little brother." She turned a tomato over slowly in her hand. Carol could see she was holding back tears. "I mean, I loved having big brothers, too." She sniffled.

Carol put an arm around her. "Let it out if you have too."

"I don't want to be weak," she said.

"It's not weak to miss someone."

" _You_ don't cry over all the people you miss," Sofie said.

"Not because I'm strong," Carol said. "Because I'm not strong enough. I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll never stop." But she _had_ cried over Sophia last night, hadn't she? A single, cathartic tear. Just one. It felt good, and she _had_ stopped. "I miss my daughter, too," she told her. She kissed the top of Sofie's head. "But I'm glad to have you."

Sofie turned and gave her a big, one-armed hug. "I'm glad I have you, too."

[*]

Carol settled in against Daryl's naked chest, still quivering from her orgasm. Candles flickered on Daryl's nightstand, bathing the bed in a faint glow, and Carol wondered why they hadn't done this before the power restrictions. She liked the romantic touch.

Daryl breathed in and out steadily as he tried to regain control. "Damn," he muttered finally. "Worth the wait."

She snorted. "What wait? It's only been two nights since we last had sex."

"Can't help it if I think 'bout ya all the time."

She kissed the warm flesh between his pectoral muscles. She liked being able to lie against him like this, on her side, one arm across his stomach, her leg wedged between his. She hadn't been able to do it when she was in the sling. "Be safe on your run tomorrow."

"Mhmh."

She raised her head and kissed his cheek. "If you bring me something nice from Victoria's Secret," she whispered, "maybe I'll finally give you a blow job when you get back." The progression usually went the other way around, she knew, but given the way Ed had sometimes demeaned her when it came to that, it required a great deal of trust and vulnerability to offer it to Daryl, even more than sex.

"Ya _want_ to do that?"

"I think I do."

"Be sure," he told her, stroking her hair and looking into her eyes. "Don't need it."

"But you _want_ it."

"Yeah," he admitted. "But what I _don'_ t want is you feelin'...obligated. If that's somethin' that pokes some old wound...I ain't got to have it. A'right?"

She kissed his shoulder. "I love you," she said. "I want to please you."

"Well, I got good news then. Ya do." He kissed her softly. "No rush. We'll get there. We got all the time in the world, girl."

"Is that how you feel?" Carol asked. "We used to live like death was just around the corner."

"Dunno where death is these days. But life...life's right here. With ya."

One of the candles sputtered, flickered, but then kept its flame, blazing strong.

[*]

* * *

The sound of feet pounding against the earth caused Daryl to slow to a stop. His knapsack slung on one shoulder and his bow on the other, he turned to find Glenn catching his breath. The new father extended him a handwritten list on a piece of notebook paper. "Some things Maggie needs when you're on the run."

Daryl reached out, grabbed the list, and looked it over. The cursive was pretty, in sweeping blue ink. "Hell is a baby bee-jorn?"

"It's one of those carriers, you know? For a baby. You can carry it on your back or the front."

"Can't she just turn a blanket into a sling?"

"I don't know, man, she wants a Baby Bjorn."

"Car seat?" Daryl asked. "Ain't takin' the baby out the gates."

"We might have to run or something. You know, if something like the Wolves ever happens again."

"Got better security now," Daryl said. "And if we have to run, ain't got time to latch the baby in no car seat. Hell, my folks just put me on the rear dash." Daryl ran his eyes farther down the list. "Hell is a bass-eye-net?"

"Bassinet. It's like, a little crib. Until the baby's, you know, bigger."

"Just put it in a damn dresser drawer to sleep! That's what my mama did with me."

"Yeah," Glenn replied. "I don't know that you want to use your upbringing as a textbook example."

"We ain't got space for all this shit, Glenn." Daryl continued to scan the list. "Nursing pads?"

"For like, putting in her bra. For when she leaks milk."

Daryl winced.

"Just give the list to Michonne."

Daryl folded the list. "A'right. But we got to prioritize."

"I get it. But I had to give you the whole list. Maggie...she's a basket case right now, to be honest. Guess it's the lack of sleep."

"Yer lookin' kind of tired yerself."

Glenn had black bags under his eyes. "Hershey only slept two hours last night."

"That what yer callin' him? Like the chocolate bar?"

"Hershel's so formal."

"She should let ya sleep while she's feeding it. Ain't no damn sense ya both not sleepin'."

"Maggie likes me to keep her company when she's nursing him," Glenn told him.

"She's got yer balls in a vice, Chinaman."

"I'm Korean."

"I know." Daryl smirked. "I was just shittin' ya. What's daddy in Korean?"

"Appa."

Daryl clapped Glenn on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Appa." He shoved the folded list in his pocket and strolled toward the gates.

[*]

The supply run team - Daryl, Michonne, and Stone - carpooled in two pick-ups and got the sheet metal and other construction materials first, from the same abandoned construction site from which Stone had dragged the port-a-potties to the mall garage. They didn't want to draw attention with gunshots, so Daryl stood guard and knocked off walkers with his crossbow as needed while the other two loaded up. He only had to kill a few; the teenagers had lead so many to the watery depths already.

Stone showed off for Michonne by trying to lift more than he should have, and she rolled her eyes. After they'd entirely filled the bed of the largest pick-up, they drove the trucks into the underground mall parking lot, locked the gates, went inside, and started collecting.

Stone unlocked and rolled up the gates of the untouched Children's Place. "I'm going to get Enid a necklace while you two pillage this place. You need anything, Michonne?"

"Jewelry gets in the way of my katana practice."

"Well, you need no adornment anyway."

Michonne chuckled and shook her head while Daryl frowned and dragged a dolly - with a large empty cardboard box - into the store. He looked around the racks and racks of 0-3 month and 3-6 month baby clothes as Michonne started flipping through them. "Don't get the point of all this," he said. "My folks just left me in my diaper and nothin' else the first six months." When his mama did start putting him in clothes, they were hand-me-downs from his cousins, or at best something she'd picked up from the Salvation Army.

"This is too cute!" Michonne exclaimed, holding up a little, short sleeved, frilly, pink onesie that said, _Daddy's Little Girl._

"Baby's a boy!"

"I _know_ ," Michonne said, "but the stuff for girls is so much cuter. I'm taking it." She folded it and tossed it in the box. "Sasha might be having a girl. Or Nadia might have one someday. I bet Lawrence knocked her up already." She pulled a onesie off the rack. "What the fuck?" she yelled.

Daryl looked at the dark blue one-piece in her hand. On it, in white lettering, was written the words, _Monster_ _Snack,_ and there was a cartoon monster - not unlike a walker - coming out of the O.

Michonne grabbed hold of the metal rail of the rack and bent over. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Daryl ripped the shirt from her hand, balled it up, and flung it as far as he could.

Michonne dry heaved, coughed up a little liquid, and then stood up straight. She ripped a shirt off the rack, wiped her mouth with it, and dropped it on the spot where she'd coughed. "I buried that so deep." Her lower lip trembled. "I try so hard not to think about him, about my little Andre."

Daryl wished he knew what to say. He forced himself to make an attempt. "Want me to hug ya or somethin'? Need to talk?"

Michonne laughed. "No. But thank you. That was exactly the absurd distraction I needed. Daryl Dixon, psychologist extraordinaire."

His lip twitched.

"You're all right, you know," Michonne told him. "Think I'm going to see if there's any gift baskets with chocolate in Macy's. Can you do all the baby shopping?" She extended Glenn's list to him and he took it.

"Sure."

"And grab some 2T and 3T clothes for Judith. We should stock up."

"Tea clothes?"

"That's the size. It'll be on the tag or the inside back of the shirt. Just look in the toddler section."

He nodded. "Go get yer chocolate."

Alone in the Children's Place, he began packing clothes, with little attention to how they looked. He was putting random things in the box when he spied a tiny blue and white sailor's suit. He snorted at how ridiculously impractical it was. But then he slid it from the hanger, folded it, and threw it in the box. The women would go wild for it.

[*]

In the Books A Million, Daryl ran a flashlight over the titles and gathered a box full of books. He went to the tool section of the Sears next. The mall was eerie in its dark, underground, silent emptiness. Very little natural light made its way into this lair, and Daryl wondered how Stone's camp had lived here for so long without going insane. When Daryl had been in that CDC vault, even before they'd had to flee the explosion, he'd thought of how long he would stay before slipping out on his own. He knew he wouldn't be able to live there forever, without breathing the open air or feeling the sun on his face.

He was almost glad the CDC had been destroyed now, or Carol probably would have stayed and he would have eventually gone, and what would his life be like today? He supposed he wouldn't even know what he was missing. He wouldn't have become a man who could feel that loss. It was strange, how many ugly events had combined to weave the path that led him into Carol's arms.

After packing all of their loot in one of the pick-ups in the garage, the trio prepared to settle into the J.C. Penny mattress section to sleep for the night before heading back in the early morning. Michonne seemed to have gotten over her shock in the Children's Place, and she was back to rolling her eyes and smirking at Stone's lame attempts to compliment her. Daryl didn't know what that kid got out of flirting with a woman he knew he could never have.

Daryl excused himself to "take a piss" but instead made his way back to the Victoria Secret store, where he picked up a few things for Carol. She'd given him a list this time, with sizes. When he was on his way out, a flashlight shone straight in his face, and he instinctively held up a hand to block the beam.

"Busted," Michonne said with a grin.

"Uh...I was just..."

"Getting something for Carol?" Michonne chuckled. "I came to get something for Rick."

As she began to walk past him, and they were nearly shoulder to shoulder, he said, "Think Rick'd like the way Stone flirts with ya?"

She stood still and rolled the whites of her eyes languidly at him. "Stone's not serious. He's practicing. And Rick's not a jealous ape."

"It's a goddamn double standard, if ya ask me."

"I didn't ask you," she said. "But what's that mean?'

"What if Rick was lettin' some eighteen-year-old hot young thing flirt with him, ya'd think he was pervy as hell."

"Yeah, you're right," she said. "It's a complete double standard. But there's got to be some advantages to being a woman. Still, I'll take your perspective under advisement." She walked on, and, over her shoulder, shouted, "Kiss Stone goodnight for me."

Daryl glowered, and Michonne's laugh trailed behind her as she disappeared inside the store.

[*]

When they returned to Alexandria, Daryl walked around town with the cardboard box filled with books, as if he were the delivery man. At Rick's house, he found Carl repairing a loose plank on the porch. Judith was sitting on the porch swing, looking like she'd just woken up from a nap, and staring vacantly at her baby doll. He set the box on the deacon's bench and pulled out _Sign Language for Dummies_. "Got ya an instructional video too. And more batteries for the portable DVD player."

"Thanks," Carl said. "Leave it on the bench." He went back to nailing.

"Ya like the carpentry thing?"

"Yeah. And Tom's a good teacher. He doesn't yell at me when he's frustrated the way my dad does."

"Yer dad's a'right." Daryl pulled out _What to Expect the Toddler Years_ and put it on the bench and then grabbed _The Very Hungry Caterpillar._ He sat next to Judith on the swing. "Hey little ass kicker, look at this," he said, and she scooted up next to him and lay her sleepy head on his shoulder. He opened the book, put his pinky through the hole in the leaf picture, and wiggled it. She giggled, set down her doll, and yanked the book from his hands.

"Bring me anymore _Playboys_?" Carl asked.

"Nah. That'd just distract you from learning that sign language." He stood, kissed Judith on the top of her head, picked up the box, and continued his deliveries. There was _The Complete Book of Wild Boar Hunting for_ Ethan, _A World History of Brewing_ for Brother William, and _What to Expect the First Year_ for Maggie. There were other books, and he hit nearly every house before coming home.

He found Lawrence writing in the small study in the downstairs bedroom he shared with Nadia. The door was wide open, so Daryl walked in and tossed the _Joy of Sex_ down next to the the typewriter. "Forgot to get ya a weddin' present."

Lawrence glanced at the cover and then glanced at Daryl. "Ha ha," he said. "Very funny." He opened a desk drawer, shoved the book inside, and closed it. "Nadia is fully satisfied, I assure you."

"Ain't no woman ever fully satisfied," Daryl said.

Lawrence chuckled. "Well, you do have a point there."

Daryl went to the kitchen next, where Carol was cooking something that smelled fantastic. He dumped the remaining eight books - all paperback novels - on the kitchen table. "Hope ya like 'em," he said. "They only had two on your list."

She turned down the burner, set her spoon on the spoon rest, and came over to the table and looked at the titles. "I was hoping for _Romanced by the Redneck_."

"Think that was one-of-a-kind."

"Aren't you going to kiss me hello?"

"Want me to?" he asked.

She smiled. "Assume I always want you to. It's how people greet each other when they're...a couple."

"So I'm _not_ s'posed to assume ya want sex every time I crawl into bed with ya, but I _am_ s'posed to assume you want to be kissed every time I walk into a room with ya?"

"Yes."

Daryl leaned in and kissed her. He pulled away smiling. "Maybe we should...uh...take this upstairs?"

She laughed. "Or maybe you should go wash up for lunch, because you obviously killed some walkers on your way home."

"Only get twoshowers a week now."

She glanced at the blood on his shirt and wrinkled her nose. "And this would be a good time for one."

"Wanna join me? Double up? Save water? Help the environment?"

She chuckled. "I think that would end up being a longer than usual shower. And I have to finish lunch. Come on. You know I'm worth the wait."

She said it like a joke. What had Lawrence once called that flippant tone of hers? _Self-protection_. Daryl put a hand on each of her hips and kissed her again. "Ya are, ya know," he said, and then he slipped away to wash off the filth of the road.


	51. Chapter 51

That night, while Daryl was putting his boots and belt in the closet, Carol tried on one of the new pieces of lingerie he'd brought her - a black, lacy corset and panties set. It made her feel confident and sexy, so when he closed the door and turned around, she was waiting for him.

His eyes swept over her from head to toe. "Damn," he whispered.

She kissed him teasingly and popped the button free from his tan wranglers. The zipper rasped as she tugged it down. "You've been patient," she said. "I want to do something for you."

His breath grew almost instantly thicker. "Carol, if ya ain't sure - "

"- I'm sure," she said firmly, and then slid to her knees, freeing him from his pants and boxers as she did so. Carol watched him close his eyes and lean back against the closet door before she bent her head.

"Oh...good girl..." he moaned when she began. With a hand to the back of her head, he gently urged her on. "Hell yeah. That's so...damn...right..."

Later, he returned the favor, as she lay on her back in bed, her panties discarded. He continued to torture her with his tongue even after she was trembling, and she had to push his head aside. He kissed his way up to her chin and then settled in beside her, face-to-face, where he traced the lacy outline of her bra with a single finger. "This is sexy on ya. I like it."

"Is that why you left it on me?"

"Who says we's done?"

"Not me." She snuggled in closer, pressing her chest to his. She toyed with his hair. "I think I miss the long hair. There would have been more to play with."

"Yer the one who made me cut it."

"You could grow it out again," she suggested.

"Then ya'd probably just make me cut it short again."

"So? It would be like getting to have sex with two different men."

"Yeah?" he asked. "Good. 'Cause that's as close as yer ever gonna get to that."

She chuckled. "Are you laying claim to your territory?"

"Mhmmm..." he murmured as he began assaulting her neck with gentle nips. He rolled her onto her back and trailed kisses down toward her breasts. "Gonna mark every damn inch of it..."

[*]

When Daryl took Ethan outside the gates one afternoon, he saw Brother Nathaniel and James Miller opening the tail gate of a pick-up. They each drug out a net full of fish, at least a dozen catfish and even more bluegill. James, who was one of the original Alexandrians, had been a sports fisherman in the old world, and Brother Nathaniel had worked on a crabbing boat in the Chesapeake before taking vows, but Daryl still felt outdone. "How in the hell ya get all those?" he asked. With all the chemicals from the firebombing of D.C., the Potomac was useless for fishing.

"Drove out to a lake a few miles west," James told him.

"We signed out the truck," Brother Nathaniel assured him.

Daryl wasn't worried about that. He sometimes forgot to sign things out himself. When he did, Karen would give him a lecture about how if everyone just took equipment out willie nilly, they'd never know where everything was - or where _anyone_ was, in case a search party was ever needed. "Run in to many walkers near that lake?"

"We outdrove half a dozen getting there," Brother Nathaniel replied.

"And there were a couple of floaters," James said.

"Any sign of people?"

Brother Nathaniel nodded. "From the Kingdom. They were fishing there, too. Three men."

The Kingdom had joined the Alliance with the monastery and the Hilltop Colony in the final War against the Saviors.

"Any problems with 'em?" Daryl asked.

"They seemed a bit upset when we caught twice what they did," James said. "And they made some noise about the lake being their territory, but we reminded them if it's not fenced, it's not yours."

"We exchanged words," Brother Nathaniel agreed, "but that was the worst of it. Where are you headed?"

"Tracking wild pigs," Ethan said.

"Good luck," James replied.

Brother Nathaniel whistled up, and the gates rolled open.

Daryl and Ethan moved on. They walked deeper into the woods this time. They followed those swine tracks for a long while, bagging a rabbit on the way. "Hope that wasn't the Easter bunny," Ethan said.

"You still believe in that?" Daryl asked.

"Not since you ruined Santa Claus for me."

They lost the trail in a creek.

"They must have walked through this creek a long time," Ethan said. "Ain't nothin' goin' up."

"Your mama ain't gonna like it if she hears you sayin' ain't." Daryl swished the shallow water around with his boot. A fresh spring rain, coupled with the stream water, had washed away the trail. It was approaching evening. "We'll look some more tomorrow morning," Daryl promised him.

"I don't know if my mom will let me," Ethan said. "It's Sunday."

"So?"

"Church."

"Y'all go to that?"

"Half the town goes," Ethan replied. "It's not just for Catholics. Ms. Carol goes. Why don't you?"

"Church ain't my thing."

"My mom _made_ my dad go." Ethan's nostrils flared and he bit his bottom lip. His light brown glistened, and Daryl could tell he was fighting back tears.

"C'mon," Daryl said. "'S get back home." He put a hand gently on the boy's back and urged him up the bank.

As they walked through the woods, Ethan asked. "You ever miss your dad?"

"Nah. My dad ain't worth missin'."

"My dad died to save us."

"He was a brave man who loved y'all very much," Daryl said, even though he had no idea what kind of man Ethan's father was.

"He never took me hunting or fishing," Ethan said. "But he took me to a baseball game when I turned five."

"I ain't never been to a baseball game. Those ball park dogs as good as they say?"

"Not as good as the cotton candy." Ethan looked down at the forest floor. "I'm starting to forget what he looked like."

"That happens." Daryl stopped and looked around the forest. He hadn't seen or heard anything, but something just didn't _feel_ right.

"What is it?" Ethan asked.

"Nothin' I guess." Daryl moved on.

[*]

Carol settled onto one of the backless, wooden pews next to Karen and cut her fish with a fork. Sofie was sitting with Ethan in the grass on the other side of the outdoor sanctuary and chattering his ear off about something.

"Happy times are here again," Karen said. "What a catch." She looked at James who was standing by the grill. "I didn't know he was such a good fisherman. I thought he was just nice to look at."

"Do I sense a romance brewing?" Carol asked just before she took a bite.

"No. He's taken up with Cora Robinson. You know, Kendra's mom."

Daryl plopped down cross-legged on the ground in front of the pew where they sat. He set his plate on his lap and began eating the fried fish with his hands.

"They have forks," Carol told him.

"Better this way. Then ya can lick your fingers." He demonstrated with sloppy sucks.

"So sexy," Carol said sarcastically, and Karen chuckled.

"Can I take Ethan huntin' early tomorrow?" Daryl asked. "At sunrise. Have 'em back in time for church."

"I don't know. Daryl," Karen said.

"We's this close to gettin' that pig." He held his thumb and forefinger an inch a part.

"Okay, but don't be gone more than two hours."

Carol spied Carl sitting on the stage next to Vicky. He was signing to her, or at least attempting to. "When did he learn sign language?"

Daryl turned around to follow her gaze and then turned back to his food. "Got 'em a book," he said. "And a DVD."

"He's a little young for her," Karen mused. "Two and a half years is a lot at that age."

"Well, ain't like she's got a lot of options," Daryl said defensively. "And Carl's a good kid."

"We should host a singles mixer," Karen suggested.

"What?" Carol asked.

"For the whole Alliance. Invite all the single men and women and teenagers from the Kingdom and the Hilltop Colony."

Carol smiled. "You don't like any of the men here? I can think of at least one that would come running if you snapped your fingers." She nodded in the direction of Father Gabriel, who was eating next to one of the monks in the first pew.

"I just think everyone should know what their options are," Karen said. "What do you think? Should I bring it up with the Council?"

"Ya ain't thinkin' it through," Daryl said. "What if our power engineer falls for some chick from the Hilltop? And our water engineer falls for some chick from the Kingdom? And they up and move there? And then we ain't got no engineers."

"What if some tall, dark, handsome engineer falls for _me_ and moves _here_?" Karen asked.

"Tom Miller's tall, dark, and handsome," Carol said. "He's not an engineer, but he's a _master_ carpenter."

Daryl frowned. Carol tried not to smile at how ruffled he looked.

"He is kind of dreamy," Karen agreed. "But he's not a one-woman man."

"Really?" Carol asked. "And how do you know that?"

"If y'all're just gonna gossip," Daryl said, standing up, "I'm gonna go find Lawrence and see if he's got any cigars left."

[*]

Lawrence leaned over to light Daryl's cigar. Daryl drew in with a smack-smack-smack until it glowed with red embers, and then he leaned back against the dwarf apple tree. Lawrence had propped himself up against the dwarf plumb tree. The "orchard," such as it was, also had peach tree and a red mulberry tree. The mulberries should be ripe for the plucking in three or four weeks, and Daryl was looking forward to the mulberry pie Carol had promised to bake.

"I thought you didn't like cigars," Lawrence said.

"Outta cigarettes. And they's growin' on me. How many more ya got?"

"That's my little secret," Lawrence said and blew out his smoke in the direction of the outdoor sanctuary. They were close enough to see the rest of the party, but not close enough to blow smoke in anyone's face.

"Until the Council decides we got to hand smokes over to inventory."

"Think you'll serve another term on the Council?" Lawrence asked. The Council would be up for re-election or replacement in mid-fall.

"That's months away. Ain't even thinkin' 'bout it now. And that's up to the people."

Lawrence rolled his excess ash on the ground and took another puff. "There's going to be a turnover. You've only got one townie and one monastery refugee on that entire Council. People were fine with that when we were fresh from the War, but they don't like the imbalance anymore. How's Rick going to feel, do you think, when power starts slipping from the prison camp? If he _himself_ is replaced?"

"Rick ain't gonna be replaced," Daryl said. "And if he is, he'll accept it."

"You really think so?"

"What the hell ya think he's gonna do? Organize a coup? We're all one now."

"I'm glad to hear you think so. Does Rick?"

"Rick's a good man." Daryl leaned closer. "Look. He's led us from the start, and maybe he weren't real open to feedback at first, but he has been for a long time. You ain't gotta worry 'bout Rick gettin' his panties in a bunch if he ain't re-elected. If he ain't, he'll step down, and that'll be that."

"I'm glad to hear you think so. You know him better than I do."

Daryl was distracted by the sight of Tom Miller approaching Carol and Karen. Nadia was with them now too. Tom sat on the backless pew in front of them, but facing them. His elbows leaned on his knees, he began to talk with them, and they laughed at whatever he said. "Whatcha think of Tom Miller?" Daryl asked.

"I think he's a valuable member of the community. Councilman, carpenter, and a decent shot."

"He a ladies' man?"

"Is this because of what I said to Karen? She has a _child_. I just think she needs someone more committed who doesn't treat her as a booty call."

"Wait…what? They's together?" Daryl asked.

"No. They're merely fooling around. But Tom's also fooling around with Lydia." That was Jonathan's mother. "They're in the same house. That, my friend, is a recipe for disaster. I'm trying to steer Karen in the direction of Father Gabriel."

"Thought Father Gabriel annoyed the shit out of you."

"No, just the piss."

Daryl laughed and then coughed.

"But he really seems to admire Karen," Lawrence said, "and he'll treat her well. I think a casual, non-monogamous relationship is bad for her."

"Ya think it's bad for anyone."

"True. But Karen was one of the early refugees to the monastery. She's family."

"Yer quite the gossip for an ex-monk."

" _You_ asked," Lawrence reminded him.

Daryl rolled his ash on the ground. "Just wanted to know what I was dealin' with. Don't like the way Tom looks at Carol."

"Well don't be a cave man about it. She's not going to like that. Carol can very well fend for herself."

Daryl dragged himself to his feet. "Ain't gonna be no cave man." He took several quick puffs on the cigar. "Just think I'm gonna go over there an see what they's up to." As Abraham walked by, he offered the man the rest of his cigar and then headed for the pews.


	52. Chapter 52

Carol looked away from Tom when she heard Daryl's familiar footsteps approaching. He had a highly distinguishable gait that was like its own fingerprint.

"Hey, Daryl," Tom said. He motioned to the pew next to him. "Want a seat?"

"No."

Tom smiled nervously.

Daryl extended his hand, palm-up, to Carol. "Wanna go for a walk? Nice night." Daryl had never asked her to _go for a walk_ before. She smiled indulgently and took his outstretched hand. Daryl dropped it once she was standing.

Carol picked her plate up off the pew. "I've got to put this away first."

"I'll take care of it for you." Tom rose and took the plate.

"How very kind of you," she said, with an intentionally sweet tone, just to rile Daryl. It worked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

They walked in silence away from the sanctuary. Daryl was clearly irritated, but he wasn't talking about it. When they got to the pond, Carol reached for his hand. He looked down at her hand clasping his as though confused. "This is what couples do, Daryl. They hold hands when they take romantic walks around the pond."

"Makes it harder to walk," he said.

"Well, it makes it easier for you to get laid later tonight," she told him.

"Ain't had much trouble in that department."

"You're about to."

"A'right. I'm holdin' it! See?" He swung her hand up, kissed the back of it, and then lowered their clasped hands between them again.

Carol laughed. He looked down at her, the irritation draining from his eyes and replaced with a lightness. "Like the way ya smile," he said. "Reminds me there's velvet 'neath that steel."

"That's a pretty good line."

"Weren't a line." He stopped walking and leaned in to kiss her. The dark water rippled gently in the pond behind them. The crickets sung as the sun began its slow descent in the sky, red and orange hues bursting out over the pond.

She put a hand on his chest when they pulled apart. "Go easy on Tom," she said. "You're scaring him."

"Not tryin' to."

"Really?"

"Ya know he's two-timing Karen?"

Carol patted his shoulder. "I don't think you can two-time someone you had a one-night stand with. Karen's a big girl. She knew what she was getting into from the start."

"Why'd she do it then?"

Carol snorted. "Because Tom's good-looking? Because she had an itch that needed scratching? Don't tell me you've never had a one-night stand." Carol was pretty sure that, prior to her, that was the only kind of sex he'd ever had.

"Yeah, but I'm a man, and I ain't smart."

She chuckled and took his hand. " _Weren't_ smart," she said. "You know what's good for you now, don't you?"

"Damn right." He squeezed her hand and they resumed walking.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and said, "Guess what? So do I. So stop acting jealous."

"Ain't jealous. Just don't trust him with you. Think he's collectin' notches on his belt."

"Tom plays the field," Carol told him. "I don't. There's nothing more to talk about."

[*]

"Goddamnit!" Ethan shouted. They'd just spent almost an hour following tracks only to find a boar's picked-over carcass.

"Don't let yer mama hear ya curse like that," Daryl warned him. If he did, Daryl would be the one in trouble.

"I don't." Ethan shook his little head as he watched the flies buzz around the last remnants of flesh. "How do the walkers catch 'em if we can't? They don't know how to track, and they don't move that fast."

"They get the sick ones," Daryl said. "The stragglers. Hell, that boar wouldn't've been worth eatin'."

"Those grapes were sour anyway." Ethan said with a smile.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"Didn't your mom ever read you Aesop's fables when you were little?"

"My mama never read me nothin'."

"Oh." Ethan's thick eyelashes lowered over his eyes in a confused drooping. "Why not?"

"Cause she weren't a good mama like yours." He nodded at the tracks leading away from the carcass. "Looks like the rest of the passel outran 'em. Porky's still out there somewhere. But I got to get ya back home. Try again tomorrow."

When they were on the way home, a sudden snap sounded somewhere in the forest. He and Ethan stood back to back and moved in a slow circle to examine the area. A snake slithered out of the brush, moving quickly, and Daryl shot it.

"Was that it?" Ethan asked.

"Nah." Daryl walked around and looked up at the canopy of the forest. "Rotten branch probably cracked off somewheres."

"There's another one!" Ethan readied his crossbow at the weaving snake as it faded in and out of the debris on the floor of the forest. He shot three times before he got it. Then, his face tinged with embarrassment, he looked at Daryl.

"They's narrow and real hard to get when they's movin'," he assured the boy. "Ya done good."

Ethan smiled.

When they got back inside the gates, with the snakes draped around their necks like scarves, they heard the church bell ringing.

"Uh-oh," Ethan said. "That's not the starting bell. It's the ending bell."

They moved quickly in the direction of the tolling, and, as they approached the outdoor sanctuary, Karen walked hastily over to Ethan. "You promised me you'd be back in time for church. I was worried about you!"

"We were gonna get back, really," Ethan told her. "But then we saw the snakes." He put his hand proudly on the white-bellied, black rat snake draped about his neck. "We had to catch 'em."

"Sorry 'bout that," Daryl apologized. "Lost track of time."

"Daryl," Karen said, "I really appreciate all you've taught him, but no more Sunday morning hunting."

"Yes, ma'am." Over Karen's shoulder, Daryl saw Carol walking from the pews with Tom Miller by her side. She was wearing a light, floral spring dress that fluttered in the breeze and revealed her strong calves. She had on black sandals and her toenails were painted red. Daryl wondered when she'd started painting those. He hadn't noticed them before.

The pair stopped walking when they were beside Karen. "They're very ecumenical here," Tom quipped, looking at the dead reptile around Daryl's neck, "but I'm not sure they allow snake handling."

Carol and Karen both laughed. Daryl didn't. He looked sternly at Tom, who stopped smiling and said, "I've got to get to work on that windmill with Jake. See you at the Council meeting this evening." He nodded and then walked off.

Daryl walked Carol home. She wanted to change into something more practical before she went to work in the greenhouse. Changing clothes twice in one day. In an apocalypse. Things sure were different now, Daryl thought. The woman who kept telling them they couldn't risk growing soft when they first moved into Alexandria was now painting her toes and changing her clothes.

Daryl intentionally took the long way home, past the pond, so he could ask her about Tom. It took him awhile to broach the topic. "Ya go to church with Tom?"

"He was there. He goes every Sunday."

"He sits next to ya?"

"You know, Daryl, it could have been _you_ sitting next to me if you had wanted to come with me."

"Don't get the church thing."

"It's community. Ritual. It's comforting," she said. "I like the music. And I believe in God. Don't you?"

"Guess. Just ain't so sure he believes in us." Daryl slowed in his walking now, because he saw Carl Grimes in the grass near the pond trying to weigh down a blanket with rocks.

"What are you up to?" Carol asked him.

"Picnic," Carl replied. "Vicky said she'd meet me here after she got out of church."

"That's a lovely idea," Carol told him, and then looked pointedly at Daryl. "I wish I had someone to take me on a picnic."

"You ain't subtle."

"Well, you require flashing neon signs."

As they walked on, Daryl said, "Ya know, it was _my_ idea he take her on a picnic."

"Really?" she asked skeptically.

"Damn right." He smiled slightly and admitted, "Not that I have any idea what yer s'posed to do on one."

"You're supposed to eat sandwiches," Carol told him. "And lay on your back and look at the clouds. And then kiss the girl."

"Then why ya want me to take ya on one? We already kiss."

Carol shook her head.

[*]

Daryl was frying up frog legs in a pan on the stove one early afternoon when Brother Lawrence walked in. Daryl had caught the frogs by the pond after he and Ethan had returned empty handed from the hunt. He was only allowed to take Ethan out on Friday and Saturday mornings now, days when there was no school and no church. "Want some?"

"No thank you," Lawrence answered.

"They's good," Daryl assured him. "Tastes like chicken, if chicken tasted like frog."

"I'm fasting."

"Why?"

"It's Good Friday," Lawrence answered matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Daryl shook the pan. "Shit. Was Ethan s'posed to be in church this mornin'?" If he was, the kid hadn't told him when he'd showed up, crossbow on his shoulder, at the foot of Daryl's porch stairs this morning.

"It's an evening service," Lawrence answered. "Are you at least coming to the Easter service on Sunday?"

"Guess Carol's gonna make me." Well, she wouldn't _make_ him. But she'd ask him with those pretty blue eyes looking right at him, and he'd probably say yes. But then next Sunday he'd go hunting early in the morning and stay out for several hours just so she knew he wasn't about to make that church-going nonsense a habit.

"We're doing an egg hunt for the kids after the service," Lawrence said. "Plastic ones, with hard candy. We still have some from the mall. That was always my favorite part of Easter when I was little. What was yours?"

"It was just another day." Daryl flicked off the burner and moved the pan over.

"Really? In Georgia? In the Bible Belt?"

"In the Dixon house."

"Well, Flannery O'Connor did say the South is not so much Christ-centered as Christ-haunted."

"Who's he? An old Irish drinkin' buddy of yers?"

Lawrence chuckled. " _Her_. She's a southern fiction writer. A Georgia native, as a matter of fact. Didn't you have to read her in high school?"

"Told ya. Dropped out of high school." Daryl reached for one of the frog legs, singed his fingers, pulled back his hand, and then licked his fingertips to cool them off.

"Your parents weren't at all religious?" Lawrence asked.

"They's stay-at-home Baptists. Once saved, always saved. So they figured there weren't no point in workin' at it."

"Do you believe that?"

"Ya gettin' ready to preach to me? Thought you weren't a monk no more."

Lawrence leaned back against the kitchen table and crossed his arms over his chest. "Merely curious what you believe."

Daryl got a plate out of the cupboard and dumped the frog legs on it. "Believe there ain't no point in talkin' 'bout shit when you oughta be doin' shit."

"That's in the Bible."

"Pffft."

"No, really," Lawrence said. "In James."

Daryl picked up a now somewhat cooler frog leg. "Yeah? Well, ain't there somethin' you oughta be doin'?"

Lawrence uncrossed his arms. "Helping to dig irrigation ditches. We finished the well."

Daryl ripped into the frog leg and chewed the flesh with smacking lips. He swallowed and said, "I got a lot of experience diggin' ditches." That was the only work he and Merle could get some weeks when they were drifting. It was hot, dirty work, but it kept his arms strong. "Be there to help when I'm done eatin' lunch."

"I'll let Damien known."

"Ya shouldn't dig on an empty stomach," Daryl warned him. "Gonna faint."

"I've had plenty of water."

As Lawrence walked past him to the kitchen door, Daryl said, "J.C.'d love these frog legs. He wouldn't be fastin' on a perfectly good Friday."

[*]

Daryl grumbled his way to the outdoor sanctuary very early on Easter morning, but it was worth it just to see Carol in her Easter dress. It curved around and accentuated all the right places. He'd worn a clean, unfrayed pair of dark tan Wranglers and a white polo shirt - one with sleeves and everything. He was _trying_. For her.

Above the empty cross rose the sun, the color of a Georgia peach, and Daryl found himself strangely missing his home state. Virginia was gorgeous land, but it wasn't as familiar as those backwoods he'd roamed his whole life.

Church was a little confusing, but just like at the dinner table, he watched what other people were doing and copied them. The hymns weren't bad at all, especially not with that choir of monks lifting the sound up and out. When Carol slipped her hand into his during the prayers and smiled at him, Daryl wondered if maybe there really was such a thing as heaven, if maybe he'd found it, here within the well guarded gates of this new Eden.


	53. Chapter 53

Carol loved morning sex best. It was slow and lazy and felt like a good stretch, but much _better_ than a stretch, of course. They eased into it wordlessly with kissing and petting, pretending that it wasn't heading where it was obviously heading, until Daryl was in her, and she was sighing softly as they moved in quiet rhythm. It felt good to be beneath him, their bodies pressed fully together. Free of the sling, she could wrap both her arms around him and use one hand to grip his hair while the other roamed his back. She loved the possessive weight of him against her as he kissed her and teased her with slow, deliberate thrusts until she was pleading in a quiet whisper, " _Faster._ "

The other good thing about morning sex was that Daryl usually didn't fall asleep afterwards. This morning, he drew slow circles on her flesh, letting his fingertips roam her back like feathers. If she didn't know him better, right now, she might think he was tracing the shape of a heart between her shoulder blades. Maybe he was.

She giggled. "That tickles." She shifted her cheek on his chest, draped a leg between his, and began tracing his rib cage with a single finger, finding just the spot she knew would tickle him back.

"Stop," he said.

She did. "When do you have to leave to take Ethan hunting?"

He craned his neck to look at the clock. "Promised I swing by in an hour. Gotta while."

She kissed his chest. She felt so comfortable here in his arms, so perfectly his. She felt like she could tell him anything, and so she did - "I think I want a wedding."

"What?"

"You said you aren't ever leaving me."

"Mhmhm...yeah. 'S right."

"Then why shouldn't we get married like Lawrence and Nadia did?"

"'Cause it's pointless," Daryl replied. "People get married all the time and still break up. Don't mean nothin'. 'S what people do in the long-run that matters."

"I don't think it's pointless."

He eased out from under her and sat back against the headboard. "Hell difference is a weddin' gonna make? Don't ya trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." She sat up and faced him. "It's not about me trusting you. I want the world to know we're together."

"World knows that," he said.

"Well, to celebrate it then."

"You _been_ married. All that did was make Ed think he owned you."

"You're not Ed," she reminded him. "I never had a wedding with Ed anyway. We eloped. I never got to do what Nadia did."

"I ain't that guy. If ya want me to be some guy who's comfortable in a tuxedo, quotin' poetry...Ya got the wrong man."

"Who said anything about quoting poetry? I don't understand why you're so resistant to the idea."

He clinched his teeth and looked away from her. "Sometimes I think ya want me to be someone else. Some guy who wears a suit and goes to church and knows how to plan picnics."

"I don't want you to be anyone else, Daryl."

"It'd be ridiculous, someone like me up there! We ain't like other couples. That ain't _us_." He shook his head. "Ya can't really want that, Carol."

"Don't tell me what I want!" Ed had done that for years. You don't want to have a friend like that whore Mary Ellen. You don't want to take that pathetic part-time job at the bookstore. You don't want to wear that fancy dress that just makes you look desperate. You don't want to take those useless community college classes. "If _you_ don't want to get married, _fine_. If _you_ think it's ridiculous, fine. But _I_ don't. It means something to me, and don't expect me to pretend like it doesn't, unless you want _me_ to be someone else." She threw back the blanket, got out of bed, and began pulling on her clothes.

[*]

Daryl was preparing his knapsack in the living room later when Lawrence came in. "Heard a door slam upstairs. You and Carol all right?"

"We're fine."

"The Bible says don't let the sun go down on your wrath."

"What?"

"It means you should always make up before night fall. Or in this case, maybe before you go hunting?"

Daryl clipped his knapsack closed violently. "Said we're fine." But he stopped by the kitchen before he left, where Carol was eating breakfast. "Headed out," he said.

"Be safe," she replied curtly, without really looking at him.

He watched her eat in silence for a moment. He felt like something precious was slipping through his fingers and he didn't know how to grasp it. But he also felt inadequate and angry, the same way he'd felt whenever his father or brother had verbally torn him down. "Lawrence says don't let the sun go down on your wrath."

"Does he?" She dipped her spoon into her bowl.

"So…uh…ya should stop bein' mad at me."

She finally looked at him. "Is that supposed to be some kind of apology?"

He swallowed. "Sorry we fought."

"You say that like it's something that just _happened_ to us."

"Ya know what?" Daryl felt helpless and scared. He didn't like feeling helpless and scared, so those feelings morphed into anger. "I ain't got the patience for this shit!" He strode past her and went out through the back. The screen door whined as it swung shut.

[*]

When Daryl took Ethan outside the gates, James Miller and Brother Nathaniel were dragging tanks of live fish off the bed of a pick-up and placing them on a dolly. They must have left very early in the morning for the lake. Either that, or they'd been out all night.

"You're keeping them as pets?" Ethan asked.

"No," James said with a chuckle. "We're going to try stocking the pond with them. See if they'll breed, so we can have our own supply right within the gates."

"Smart idea," Daryl said. He liked James a hell of a lot better than his younger brother Tom, probably because James was a one-woman man, and the one woman who interested him was _not_ Daryl's woman. Of course, Daryl's woman was a little pissed off at him at the moment. Daryl wondered, sometimes, if Carol wished he were more educated and charming like Tom.

"How's Carol?" Brother Nathaniel asked, and Daryl felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"Fine," he said. He put a hand on Ethan's back. "'S go."

[*]

Carol was inventorying the contents of the kitchen cabinets - more to distract herself than anything else - when Lawrence walked in and leaned his elbows on the counter top. "You know what woke me up this morning?" he asked.

"No, but I have a feeling I'm about to find out."

"Your bedroom door slamming."

"Sorry," Carol said as she closed the cupboard and wrote _2 small jars_ next to _garlic powder_ on her list. "It slipped away from me. It was probably time for you to get up anyway."

"Nadia and I had a late night talking."

"Talking?" Carol quipped, trying to sound lighter than she felt. "Sounds like you need to step up your game."

"So what did you two fight about?"

Lawrence had asked the question so casually that she answered it without thinking. "Daryl doesn't want to - " she stopped. "How do you do that?"

"It's one of my many talents."

She sighed and closed the spiral notebook she was writing in. "I did something stupid. I basically proposed to him. He brushed me off, I felt like an idiot, and so I got mad at him. I don't know why I did it. Proposals are supposed to go the other way around. "

"Not necessarily." Lawrence walked over to the breakfast nook and pulled out a chair for her. She looked at it warily but walked around the counter and sat down. He took the chair nearest it. "Ruth proposed to Boaz."

"In the Bible you mean?" Carol asked.

"She laid down on the threshing floor next to him and said - _spread your garment over your servant girl,_ which at that time was symbolic of taking a woman under your protection as your wife. She didn't even _ask_ him to marry her. She _told_ him he was going to marry her. But I don't think Daryl likes being told what to do."

Carol laughed. "No, he doesn't."

"Neither do _you_."

She nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Boaz didn't agree to marry Ruth right away," Lawrence said. "You know why?"

Carol tried to remember the story, but the details eluded her. She shook her head.

"He didn't feel _worthy_ of her. He was grateful she'd chosen him, but he wasn't sure he could give her what she wanted. So he had to go through some song and a dance involving a shoe and another kinsman before he could marry her. Then he could say to himself, well, I at least gave her a chance to do better than me. But then Boaz did marry Ruth, and their love bore fruit, and from that fruit descended King David and, eventually, Jesus himself."

"Where are you going with all this?" Carol asked.

Lawrence smiled. "Maybe I just like to tell stories with happy endings."

[*]

Daryl and Ethan followed the wild pig tracks until they finally caught sight of a sow nursing four babies. They were just about big enough to be weaned, and could likely survive on their own. They killed the mother and captured two of the four piglets, though the other two got away. The sow they tied to two poles they'd crafted from branches so Daryl could drag it through the forest, and the pair of piglets Ethan carried squealing in his pack.

"We aren't gonna eat the babies are we?" Ethan asked as they headed home. "Sofie will _freak_."

"Nah. Not yet. Got to raise 'em 'til they's bigger. Build a pen. Or maybe we'll trade 'em to the Hilltop for eggs." Carol would like the eggs, he thought. She hated baking with substitutes, though she had at least four tricks to replace eggs. Hell, maybe the eggs would make up for his short temper this morning.

He was so preoccupied with thoughts of Carol, that he wasn't paying much attention to the forest floor as they walked. Daryl saw the faint outline of the trap too late. The boy's foot had already entered the circle. A sudden snap broke the silence, and the little man was flicked upside down by his ankle and drawn up high in the trees, where he hung, screaming, from the rope. Ethan's knapsack fell open. The piglets squealed their way out, landing with a thud-thud and a howl on the forest floor, along with a protein bar, water bottle, and, finally, the crossbow.

"Hang on!" Daryl shouted up to Ethan. "And settle down. Gonna get ya out of there." He looked down from the boy, and that was when he saw them: the men he hadn't heard at all - not a cough, not a twig snap, not a breath.

They were light brown skinned and long haired, with necklaces of animal teeth dangling over their chests. White lines of paint ran across their cheeks, and they wore fringed clothes made of soft, sewn deer skins. There were ten men in all, armed with spears and bows and guns, surrounding him in a circle. One sat astride a powerful black horse and wore a full headdress and snake-skin cowboy boots, while the others stood, their feet clad in tough suede moccasins, with one or two or at most three feathers tucked in their dark headbands.

Daryl felt as if he'd stepped into one of those old John Wayne movies he'd watched with Nana Willie Mae when he was a little kid.

"Y'all speak English?" he asked.

"Of course we speak English," the one with the full headdress said. "What the fuck century do you think this is?"


	54. Chapter 54

"Who are you on watch with?" Michonne asked Rick as she slid her katana into the sheath and returned it to its hook above the mantle. She'd been practicing this morning and had returned to find Rick snapping extra magazines on his belt.

"Carol."

"Good," she muttered.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, I just don't want it to be that Cindy chick. She's always flirting with you."

Rick chuckled, rested a hand on her hip, and kissed her lips playfully. "You should marry me and you wouldn't have to worry about it."

Michonne pulled back. Her eyelashes drooped heavily over her eyes as she examined him. "Was that a proposal?"

"No!" he said hastily, and she wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or amused with how flustered he sounded. "No, it just...came out."

"I shouldn't have to worry about it _anyway_."

"You don't." He kissed her again and headed for the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back. "And when I do propose," he told her. "I'll do a better job than that."

Michonne smiled as the door slipped shut behind him.

[*]

The man with the full headdress looked down on Daryl from his perch atop the horse. He was easily six foot two, lean and sinewy, with unflinching, nearly black eyes and a scar that ran down his left cheek. "Place your crossbow on the ground."

Daryl obeyed. He was severely outnumbered, and cooperation seemed the wisest course. One of the men bound Daryl's hands behind his back with rope, while two others lowered Ethan to the ground, cut him loose from the trap, and then bound his hands in a similar fashion. They tied Ethan and Daryl together like chattel and then hooked a leading rope into Daryl's belt. Ethan was holding up well, obviously terrified, but not breaking down and crying or begging, which would have been useless.

"What do y'all plan to do with us?" Daryl asked.

The horse shifted in place as its rider spoke. "Trade you back to your own people, Redneck Hunter."

"Oh, is that my Indian name now?"

The Chief _tsked_. "So politically incorrect."

"Ya prefer Native American?" Daryl asked. He wondered if these men were playacting, like King Ezekiel on his throne. "Ain't any more native than me."

"I _prefer_ to be called by my name. It's Chief Daniel. We're Mattaponi. We left our reservation when the U.S. government fire bombed Richmond. The fires spread to our lands and killed too much game. Even more than the wendigos killed."

" _I_ want an Indian name," Ethan said.

Daryl was about to shush him anxiously when the Chief laughed and said, "Kid's got balls."

"Pale Big Balls," one of the Mattaponi suggested, and they all laughed.

The Chief jerked his head back toward the depths of the forest, said something in another language, and two men vanished into the woods.

"If ya think ya can extort my people," Daryl said, "you oughtta know - a bigger gang than y'all already tried that, and we killed 'em all."

"My scouts have been watching your people on and off for many weeks," the Chief told him. "We're aware of your firepower and your trade alliances. We aren't looking for a war. If your people cooperate with us, you get handed over alive. We take what we need, and we go about our way."

"And what do y'all need?" Daryl thought they probably had the hunting and gathering under control.

"Ammunition. Batteries. Oil. And your doctor."

"They ain't gonna give you our doctor for me. I can tell ya that right now." There was no way in hell Lawrence would allow _that_ trade.

"We don't want your people to _give_ her to us."

He'd said _her_. Nadia had not been outside the gates, so if he knew their doctor was a woman, his scouts had been watching them very closely indeed, from high up in the trees, perhaps, with binoculars. And all this time, not a single person on watch had seen them.

 _The feathers_ , Daryl thought and cursed himself for not being more suspicious. Carl hadn't seen a flying owl that night after all. And those tracks he'd found when he was hunting the deer? He could see them now in his mind's eye. The gait wasn't lurching enough. They hadn't been walker. They'd been living man. He'd been too tired from the reception, and too preoccupied with finding the deer, to realize it. Life in Alexandria was making him soft.

"What do ya mean you want her, then?" Daryl asked.

"We want her to treat my wife."

"You ain't got yer own medicine man?"

"We did. But he died." Chief Daniel turned and glanced into the foliage, where the two men who had retreated earlier were now emerging. They carried a stretcher between them. A white woman lay on it. "She's been vomiting and feverish for two days. She's dehydrated, and she's getting worse. We don't know how to help her."

As the stretcher came closer, Daryl could hear the raspy, labored breathing. He looked down at the weak, sweat-laced woman lying on it. She looked vaguely familiar, but it took him a moment to recognize her, with her face grown whiter with sickness and her hair all in a tangled mass. Cassie. The girl who had falsely accused him of rape at the winery near Wayensboro. " _This_ is yer wife?" Daryl asked.

"She's mine," he said.

In his anger, Daryl might have wished some poetic justice on Cassie, but he didn't wish her becoming some man's sex slave. "Ya kidnap her?"

"In our travels north, we found her wandering alone. She'd been living in a winery with her father, but he was killed on a supply run and never came back. She ventured out alone, fled some wendigos, and her car broke down. She was trapped. Scared. Desperate. Surrounded. We _rescued_ her. We didn't _kidnap_ her. She _willingly_ became my wife. This isn't the 17th century, you know. We don't go about kidnapping and enslaving white women."

"Well, ya wouldn't be the first," Daryl said. "Not in this world."

"We aren't those kind of men. We don't kill unless we have to. We don't abduct anyone."

Daryl snorted and craned his neck to look at the rope that bound his wrists behind his back and then bound him to Ethan.

"Point taken," the Chief said. "I mean we don't enslave anyone. This is all temporary. We just want medical care for my wife and some supplies."

"If that was really all ya wanted," Daryl said, "ya might of considered just showin' up at our gates and askin'."

"For all we know, you shoot strangers on sight. We've never watched one come to your gates. And we needed something valuable enough to trade your people."

"Could of traded that horse yer sittin' on."

The Chief scratched the horse's neck, and it whinnied. "Not my Pejòshkwe. She's family." He nodded to the towering, broad-shouldered man who was now holding the front of the rope that tied Daryl and Ethan. "Big Tree, move them out." Big Tree tugged, and Daryl, jerked forward, stumbled after him.

As they walked, Ethan whispered from behind him, "Daryl?" His voice was so young and scared.

"It's gonna be a'right," Daryl assured him.

"No talking," the Chief told him.

"Wendigo!" one of the Mattaponi yelled.

Another promptly whirled around and loaded an arrow into his longbow. Daryl craned his neck back and watched the Mattaponi quickly shoot two walkers that had just emerged from the thick brush. Daryl didn't even see the man load the second arrow, he moved so quickly. Lawrence would be jealous of his skill. Daryl was jealous of it.

As the archer went back to reclaim his arrows, Daryl thought that this gang was not going to be as easily dispensed with as the one that had killed Andrew in Cabela's. There was no way Chief Daniel would expose all of their men in a standoff before the gates. The Alexandrians couldn't simply open the portals, open fire, and kill them all. Hell, these men probably knew about the portals.

Daryl hoped they were telling the truth, that all they wanted were a few goods and some medical care...and not more wives.

[*]

Carol needed to do something to take her mind off her fight with Daryl. But up here on the quiet wall with Rick, the fight was all she could think about.

"Are you all right?" Rick asked her when they met in the middle. She'd just paced her half of the wall restlessly.

"I'm fine," she lied.

Rick turned suddenly and leveled his rifle over the wall. Carol followed his lead to see an impressive black horse emerging from around the line of parked vehicles. Astride it sat a tall man with a headdress resting on the crown of his long, black hair and a wooden rifle slung over his left shoulder. In his left hand he held a rope, and after the horse had taken a few steps forward, Daryl stumbled into view. His hands were bound behind his back, and from his wrists the rope extended to where it wrapped around Ethan's waist. The boy, too, had his hands tied behind his back, and behind him walked another man, large and muscular and snarl lipped, holding a rifle to the back of Ethan's head.

Carol took in a sharp breath and her voice shook as she told Rick, "Hold your fire."

The man in the full headdress called up. "I'm Chief Daniel. And this is my friend Big Tree. We come in peace."

"Sure doesn't look like you come in peace," Rick hollered down.

"We just want to negotiate," the Chief assured him.

Carol, leaving Rick to point his gun at the larger, armed man, shouldered her AR-15 and took a closer look through binoculars. She studied Daryl from head to toe, looking for signs of torture, but saw none. He was only a bit muddier than when he'd left this morning, a typical day on the hunt. Ethan appeared equally untouched, though his hair was wildly askew and sticking up in several places. Fear flickered in the boy's eyes, but not as much as Carol would have anticipated if he had been badly treated or had no hope of eventually being released. In Daryl's eyes, which looked straight at her, there were too many emotions to read.

She lowered the binoculars to her chest, where they dangled from a string, and raised her rifle again. "Why don't you let the boy and the man go," she said, as calmly as she could manage. "And then we'll be happy to talk."

The Chief laughed. "And then you'll be happy to shoot us both, you mean. Are you this man's wife?" He jerked the front of the rope, and Daryl stumbled forward a step, tugging Ethan after him. Big Tree followed with his gun, keeping it close to Ethan's head.

Carol didn't answer. She wasn't sure if the safer answer would be yes or no.

"I can tell you are," Chief Daniel said, "by the way you're looking at him. But you don't look at the boy as if you were his own mother. Is his mother inside? Let _her_ come see him."

"Tell us what you want," Rick said.

"Not until you bring the mother." He nodded to Big Tree, who pushed the barrel of his rifle more firmly against the back of Ethan's head. The boy trembled and closed his eyes, as though bracing himself for the shot.

"I'll get her," Carol called over the wall. She took the opportunity to spread the word of the threat, but she did also return with Karen. As Carol followed Karen up the ladder to the top of the wall, Alexandria's marksmen lined up below behind the portals, ready to fire if needed.

Karen looked out over the wall, spied her son, and screamed, "Ethan!"

"Mom!" he cried back, his voice more like a child's than Carol had ever heard it.

" _Now_ you'll negotiate," Chief Daniel said.

"You let him go!" Karen screamed. "Let him go!" She began to repeat herself hysterically, until Rick dragged her down off the wall. Nadia was below, with her medical bag. She'd brought the golf cart gurney, too, as though she was prepared to serve as a field nurse in the event of war wounds. Now, she helped by giving Karen, who was kicking and screaming and trying to break free of Rick's grasp, a mild sedative.

Shrill whistles arose from the forest line across from the front gates, ten in a row. Carol turned in the direction of the sound. She shouldered her weapon and scoured the tree line with binoculars, but she couldn't make out anything. It seemed to be coming from _up_ within a tree.

"Red Bear tells me there are ten marksmen on the bottom of your wall," Chief Daniel said. "Impressive. But please be aware that if a single one of them fires a single shot, the boy dies first."


	55. Chapter 55

The Council convened in Rick's living room to discuss Chief Daniel's proposal. Carol hugged herself where she stood by the mantle, keenly aware of Daryl's absence from his usual spot. The Chief and Big Tree had retreated with Daryl and Ethan into the woods and had promised to return to the gates - with the sick woman but _without_ the captured man and boy - in precisely one hour. They warned that if either of them or the woman was killed, Daryl and the boy would also be killed.

"If we open those gates to take in the patient," Tom Miller said, "They could rush in. Wasn't that the trick that other gang tried to play?"

"We're bringing in a stretcher," Rick replied, "not a truck. And we'll have the wall lined with marksmen."

Abraham shook his head. "I'm with Tom here. It feels like a trick."

Karen, who had been sitting on the couch, rocketed into a standing position. "They have my son out there!" The sedative had brought her down from her hysteria, but she was understandably still anxious.

"I understand that," Abraham assured her. "But we have to think of the end game. We have an entire community to protect."

Michonne turned to Carol. "What do you think? You know Daryl. Did he give you any idea of what he thought of letting them in?"

"I couldn't tell what he thought. I know Daryl would have risked his own life to warn us if he suspected a plot was afoot, but maybe not Ethan's." She turned her eyes to Karen. "He loves that boy."

"What do they want, really," Karen asked anxiously, "but some bullets and some oil and some medicines? And we have plenty to share!"

"Share," Abraham scoffed. "That's not what I call _sharing._ "

Father Gabriel put a hand hesitantly on Karen's shoulder, as though to soothe her. "They don't want war. They want help. We should help them so that we can get Ethan and Daryl back."

"I agree. I think this is a straightforward kidnapping and ransom," Rick said. "I worked a couple of cases like this as a sheriff's deputy, and it's usually best to cooperate and worry about apprehending the perpetrators when the victim is safe."

"Is it?" Michonne asked. "Is it a good idea to negotiate with extortionists? Because if their methods work, won't they just repeat them?"

Karen was biting her bottom lip and shaking. This time, Father Gabriel put an arm around her. "Our priority right now should be getting Ethan back," he said. "We can worry about defending against a repeat later."

"What are our other options?" Glenn asked nervously.

"We kill the two men when they show up again," Abraham said. "If they send more, we kill them, too. From behind the wall."

"If we do that, they'll kill Ethan!" Karen shook off Father Gabriel's arm to step forward. "What happened to leaving no one behind?"

"I won't leave them behind," Abraham insisted. "But we have an entire village to defend. I am not comfortable with inviting a potential Trojan horse inside our gates. Have none of you read _The Illiad_? What if this woman is infected with some wildly contagious disease? What if she's a biological weapon?"

"Wouldn't they all also be infected then?" Carol asked.

"I'm going to get Nadia," Michonne said. "We need her opinion."

"Get Lawrence too," Carol suggested. "Maybe he knows about this tribe. He's a historian."

Carol paced from end to end of the mantle while the Council waited. Karen had settled back onto the couch with Father Gabriel at her side. He was trying to be comforting, but he seemed to be annoying her. Carol understood that. The last thing she wanted right now was someone touching her and telling her it was going to be okay, and she was glad everyone seemed to be keeping their distance. Tom kept shooting her concerned glances, but her longtime people - the ones she'd been through hell and back with again and again, were in full-swing, problem-solving mode. There was no time for false comfort. There was no time to feel the full weight of fear and sorrow.

She turned when she heard the front door open. There was a murmur of voices in the foyer, and then Nadia and Lawrence entered the living room. After they were briefed on the discussion up to this point, Lawrence explained, "The Mattaponi were one of the tribes inherited by Chief Powhatan in the sixteenth century. They spoke an Algonquin dialect, but it's largely died out by now. Their first language is English."

"They were speaking to each other in a language that wasn't English," Carol said.

"Perhaps they've revived it. People create their own cultures in these strange times. Just think of the Kingdom and King Ezekiel. But, historically, the Mattaponi were one of only two tribes to have owned reservation lands in Virginia before the Outbreak. They had their own Tribal Council. Still do, I suppose. They have a reputation for being strong Christians. Or did. Baptists."

"How big is the tribe?" Abraham asked.

"Well, there are two tribes, technically. A few hundred people total. Only a few dozen actually lived on the reservation lands."

The Council turned to Nadia next. "What do you think about bringing this woman inside?" Rick asked.

"Without seeing her personally, I can't possibly hope to make a diagnosis. But I agree with Abraham. We have to at least consider the possibility that they're using her as a biological weapon. They could potentially be immune to whatever she has. But perhaps you can propose this - I'll walk outside the gates to treat her. I'll bring my bag and wear a mask and gloves. If I deem she's noncontagious, I'll bring her in for further treatment. If not, I won't."

"No," Lawrence said.

"What else is there to do?" Nadia asked him.

"What if that's exactly what they want?" Lawrence asked angrily. "To lure our doctor outside the gates? To take you?"

"You just said they were strong Christian men," Father Gabriel reminded him.

" _Were_. God knows what they've become in this world. God knows if they even _are_ Mattaponi and aren't just pretending. Maybe they're delusional."

"Lawrence, I don't know what else we can do here," Nadia told him. "We can't risk taking her in until I examine her, and if we do nothing, they'll kill that little boy. They'll kill Daryl. He was your best man!"

Lawrence paced the living room. He stopped in front of Nadia and hissed, "I can't believe you'd volunteer for that after what you've _already_ been through!"

"This is not your decision, Lawrence." She looked from tense face to tense face. "It's the Council's."

[*]

Chief Daniel looked at his wrist watch. The gold Rolex made a strange contrast to the traditional garb he was wearing. Daryl, who was sitting on the forest floor bound and leaned against a tree next to Ethan, fingered the ground behind himself until he'd found a sharp twig. He struggled to slip it under the ropes binding his wrists.

"That only works in the movies," Chief Daniel told him. "Unless you're Houdini."

Daryl, wondering how the man sensed what he was doing, dropped the twig. "Why dontcha just let the boy go and keep me?"

"Because you aren't worth nearly as much as the boy. Except to your second wife."

"My second wife?"

"The gray-haired warrioress." He nodded to Ethan. "The boy's mother only cares about him."

"His mother ain't never been mine."

"But you impregnated her?"

Daryl laughed. He looked at Ethan, who was smiling a little through his fear. The boy didn't look much like him. His eyes were brown instead of blue and his light brown hair had a reddish tint to it, but he'd likely adopted a few of Daryl's mannerisms over time - his gait and some of his speech patterns.

The Chief walked over to the stretcher where Cassie lay, her breaths coming more slowly now, with long rasps between them. He squatted down beside her and stroked her hair gently. Daryl was glad Cassie was too far gone to recognize him. If she renewed her accusations of rape, it would not likely endear him to his captor.

Chief Daniel kissed Cassie's forehead and whispered something in her ear before he rose. He walked pass the wild pig, which was slowly roasting on a spit above the fire. The piglets, which had survived the fall from Ethan's pack, were corralled in a pen the Mattaponi had built. The Chief sat down on a fallen tree log across from Ethan and Daryl. "Your doctor is very good?"

Daryl wasn't sure if it was wiser to reassure the man Cassie would be in good hands so that he would be placated or to downplay Nadia's skill so he wouldn't want to abduct her. "She's a'right."

"Has she ever lost a patient?"

The question was like a punch in the gut. Daryl hadn't thought of Aaron in a while. Nadia had cleaned Aaron's cuts and stitched his wounds and found a blood donor among the monastery camp, but still Aaron had died. Daryl shrugged. "What doctor hasn't?" He thought it best to change the subject before the Chief probed too deeply into the going-ons of Alexandria. "Where's your camp at?"

Chief Daniel had a deep and manly laugh. "You know I'm not foolish enough to tell you that. But if you're wondering if there are more of us - the answer is yes." He stood up, walked over to his horse, which was tied to a tree, and stroked its mane. The horse whinnied softly, almost as if it were purring. "Your camp is lovely," he said, his back to Daryl. "All that power and running water."

Daryl tensed.

The Chief turned to face him. "Don't worry. I don't want to lose any of my men trying to take it, and I'm sure your people will fight to the death for it. Besides, our camp is lovely too. We've returned to the old ways. They served our people well for centuries, why not now?" He glanced at the lean Mattaponi man who had been up in the tree counting marksmen. "But Red Bear misses his satellite dish."

"Well, tell ya what," Daryl said. "Let the boy go now, and I'll make sure ya get a portable DVD player and lots of batteries and movies."

Chief Daniel smiled, which lightened his otherwise dark eyes. The scar on his cheek was punctured by a dimple. "I know you have to try, but you're a horrible negotiator. Silver tongued you are not. How did you ever manage to woo that gray-haired warrioress of yours?"

Daryl grunted. Not easily. And, at the moment, Carol was pretty pissed off at him. But maybe a life-or-death situation like this would put things in perspective. Maybe it would make her realize it was better to have a man who could hunt and fight than one who could plan a picnic. Except, like a goddamn fool, he'd let himself and the boy get caught. He was the reason Alexandria was in this mess. And it wasn't even the first time he'd let himself get caught by an enemy. Hell, maybe Carol would decide he wasn't even worth trading for. Useless as a boyfriend _and_ as a warrior.

Chief Daniel breathed on the face of his Rolex and then rubbed it clear with his sleeve. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the hands. Then he put the watch to his ear.

"That thing is useless," Red Bear told him. "Why do you still wear it?"

"It was my brother's."

Daryl realized, with a sudden jolt, that he had nothing that belonged to Merle.

Red Bear shaded his eyes with a hand and looked up at the sun. "It's time."

Chief Daniel spoke to his men in his language. Four of them vanished instantly into the woods. Big Tree lifted one end of the stretcher, and the Chief took the other. Cassie groaned and thrashed. They began marching out, with one of the Mattaponi following behind, rifle ready. That left three men to guard Daryl and Ethan.


	56. Chapter 56

Carol pushed the last bullet down and then slid the full magazine into her rifle before shouldering the weapon. Her recently healed arm ached slightly when she dragged a heavy case of ammo from a cabinet in the arsenal and lifted it onto the counter. She unlatched the green metal lid with a clang, scooped out a handful of bullets, and began loading a second magazine. She hoped the negotiations would go smoothly, but, if they didn't, she had to be prepared to do whatever it took to bring Daryl home alive. She had made her peace with the thought of killing for those she loved, as much peace as anyone with a conscience could make with such a grim necessity.

She was sliding the second full magazine into the pouch on her belt when Lawrence entered the arsenal. "Talk Nadia out of it," he pleaded with her. "Tell her not to go outside those gates!"

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Carol told him.

"Please! She'll listen to you if you tell her Daryl gave you some kind of...warning."

"But he didn't."

"I can't lose her again!" he shouted. Then, with a lower voice, "Please, Carol."

Carol could feel her restraint slipping from her iron grasp. "You know," she said, her voice trembling with anger, sorrow, and fear, "I could lose Daryl, too. They have him in shackles! They could kill him if we make one wrong move! And the very last thing I said to him was said in anger." She began to sob.

Lawrence put his arms around her and she cried into his shoulder. She could hear his own heaving breaths - that sound a man makes when he's not crying, because he's holding it back, but he might as well be crying. She pulled away from him and angrily wiped the tears from her face.

"Maybe we should pray," Lawrence said.

"I'm starting to think maybe I should _stop_ praying. God didn't answer my prayers when I lost my daughter."

"Carol - "

He was cut off by the entrance of five monks who began readying their own weapons. They were praying as they prepared, quoting something from the Psalms.

"Awake, O God," Brother William intoned as he loaded a magazine, each word accentuated with the click of brass on brass.

Brother Nathaniel grabbed hold of an AR-10. "Bring an end to the violence of these who are holding Daryl and Ethan in their captivity."

"Do not relent," Brother Matthew prayed as he cinched his battle axe tightly in his belt.

"Sharpen Your sword." Brother Stephen drew his own sword down from where it hung on the wall of the armory and slid it into its sheath.

"Bend the string of Your bow," Lawrence joined in, and Carol thought they must have armed themselves this way for battle many times during the War against the Saviors. It was a bizarre ritual to behold, but it gave her a strange comfort.

"Prepare your deadly weapons." Brother Thomas drew down his Medieval mace, the one that had once decorated the wall of the mess hall in the monastery.

Lawrence grabbed arrows from a shelf and slid them into his quiver. "Make ready Your flaming arrows."

The monks, and Lawrence with them, turned and began to walk out of the arsenal, still praying, "God, these ones who are holding Ethan and Daryl in their captivity, let them dig a hole and scoop it out and fall into the pits that they have made..."

[*]

Rifle and bow in hand, from atop the wall, Carol and Lawrence watched as Chief Daniel and Big Tree marched toward the gate, the stretcher between them. Rick and Glenn stood atop the wall, too, while Sasha and Abraham joined the marksmen at the portals below. Another line waited behind the marskmen, those armed for hand-to-hand combat, Brother Stephen with his broad sword, Michonne with her katana, Brother Matthew with his battle axe, Brother Thomas with his mace, and Morgan with his staff. The Alexandrians were ready for any possibility when the gate was rolled open to let the doctor out.

And yet nothing happened. Nadia emerged, and no one tried to rush in. No arrows flew from the tree line. No gunshots rang out. The Chief and Big Tree, with their wooden rifles still shouldered, simply lowered the stretcher to the ground and waited for Nadia to approach. The gate clanged shut behind her.

Several minutes passed as Nadia completed her examination. When she was done, she took the Chief aside, peeled off her gloves, lifted her mask, and began to speak with him.

Lawrence shouldered his bow and took hold of a pair of binoculars. He studied the woman on the stretcher through them. "That woman," he said. "We've met her."

"What?" Carol asked.

Lawrence shook his head. "Never mind."

"Don't never mind me!"

"Did Daryl tell you about what happened in the winery near Waynesboro?"

"No, but Michonne did."

"Well, that's the woman who crawled into his sleeping bag with him and then falsely accused him of rape."

"Are you serious?" Carol asked.

"It's a small world after all."

"She accused him of rape, and now we have to save her to save him?" Carol shook her head.

Nadia approached the gate, the paper mask free of her mouth and strung around her neck. "Let me in," she called up. "They'll wait thirty minutes for us to discuss the matter."

Rick whistled, and the gate rolled open.

[*]

"Hantavirus, I suspect," Nadia told the quickly assembled Council. "It's not common in North America, but she had all the symptoms, and seeing as they're a hunting community, I thought she might well have come in contact with an infected deer mouse. When I questioned Chief Daniel, he confirmed that she did disturb a nest when she went out to the restroom one morning about a week ago. She suffered a minor bite, easily forgotten, but it was probably transmitted at that time."

"Is it contagious?" Rick asked.

"There's been no incidence of person-to-person transmission in the U.S., though there have been a few rare cases in South America."

"Are you saying it's safe to bring her in?" Karen asked.

"I believe it would be safe, though of course I would quarantine her," Nadia said. "There's no specific treatment, though she'll have a better chance of recovery in the infirmary. It's becoming a respiratory issue. She'll soon need to be intubated."

"What will they do if she dies?" Karen asked nervously.

"I asked Chief Daniel that, and he says it depends on how sincerely he thinks I tried."

Carol sighed heavily. "Then he could kills them if she dies."

Karen whimpered and turned her face away from the others.

"If he kills either of them," Abraham said, "we're going to war. They clearly don't have much ammunition."

"I don't think he actually intends to kill either of them," Nadia said. "This _is_ his wife we're talking about. I think he's desperate. I think he's trying to motivate me. Either way, I'm going to do everything I can to save this woman. Carol," she said, turning from one woman to the other, "Karen, I promise you that."

"They're waiting outside the gates right now," Father Gabriel reminded them. "They expect an answer soon."

Rick nodded. "Let's start the vote."

[*]

"Gotta take a piss," Daryl said.

"I'll take him," said the Mattaponi man Chief Daniel had called Tihkoosue. The man was stocky and broad, but not more than five foot six, and he looked to be in his mid-twenties. He left the other two Mattaponi to guard Ethan and took Daryl a little ways into the woods and started unbuckling his belt for him.

"Whoa, there, Shorty," Daryl said. "Let's not get too friendly."

"Said you have to take a piss."

"Just untie my hands and let me do it myself."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Shorty asked.

"You gotta gun. I don't. Just let me do it myself."

"No." The Mattaponi unzipped him.

"Ya gonna pull it out, too?" Daryl asked.

"Maybe I'll cut it off while I'm at it. Do you even get much use out of it with that butch old lady of yours?"

This was where Daryl stopped thinking and the anger just ran straight from the boiling tip of his brain down to the farthest end of his backwood roots. He bent his head down and slammed Shorty straight in the skull with his own skull. The Mattaponi cried out in pain, while Daryl winced, his own head throbbing. The other two men came running, one with bow drawn, the other with gun pointed.

They looked at Shorty where he was bent over clutching his head and then looked at Daryl with his belt and fly undone. "This is why you never get the important jobs, Tihkoosue," one of them said. "We shouldn't have let you take him." The other grabbed Daryl by his bound hands and shoved him in a halting march back to the tree where they'd left Ethan sitting with hands tied behind his back.

The boy was gone.


	57. Chapter 57

Carol knocked on the window of the infirmary and waved to Nadia. The doctor came outside and lifted her mask. "What is it?" she asked.

"I want to help. You shouldn't have to do this alone. I know Kendra usually attends you." Cora Robinson wasn't going to allow her daughter to help in these circumstances, however.

"Carol, I won't put you at risk."

"You said there wasn't much risk."

"I don't think there is, but the truth is, I don't know. In the old world, there were no cases of _people_ transmitting it to each other. But this a new world."

"Let me help. I'm going insane, just waiting. Let me _do_ something. If Daryl dies," she said, choking on the words, "And I did _nothing_..."

Nadia sighed. "Wait here. I'll get you some gloves and a mask."

[*]

Shorty stood staring angrily at Daryl and leveling a gun at his temple. The other two had gone to hunt down Ethan. They'd been gone almost half an hour, but Daryl didn't think Ethan, with his hands bound, could outrun or hide from them for long. It had been a foolish move on the boy's part, and Daryl almost hoped they found him quickly, because if a walker came across him, bound and defenseless...he didn't want to think about it, the boy alone in the woods, as Sophia had once been.

"I _really_ have to take a piss," Daryl said.

"Don't try to pull that shit on me again," Shorty said. "I ought to cut it off. Right now. Send you home a eunuch."

Without a sound, Chief Daniel and Big Tree, as well as two others, appeared in the clearing. "Tihkoosue, where's the boy?" the Chief asked with a forced calm in his voice. "And where are David and Joseph?"

Shorty paled. "He uh...ran away. They went to get him."

"The boy escaped?" Chief Daniel roared. "How the hell did that happen?"

Shorty jerked his head at Daryl. "He head butted me. Hard."

The questioning went on, until Chief Daniel finally dragged the full story out of Shorty. By that time, David and Joseph had returned with Ethan. They pushed him down roughly next to Daryl. Ethan was sniffling, as though he'd cried when he was caught, but he didn't look bruised, and Daryl was relieved the Mattaponi hadn't hurt him when they'd found him.

"We should punish the boy for trying to escape," Shorty said.

"Punish him?" Chief Daniel asked. "What do you want to do? Spank him?"

Shorty flushed red. "He needs to be taught a lesson for trying to escape! So he doesn't do it again!"

"Well he _won't_ do it again if _you_ would just do _your_ job," Chief Daniel told him.

"The Redneck Hunter tried to escape, too."

"He didn't try to _escape_ ," Chief Daniel said. "You insulted his ekwēwa _,_ and he lost his temper."

"My what?" Daryl asked.

"Ekwēwa. Wife. Woman," Chief Daniel explained.

"He's going to be a problem," Shorty insisted.

"Your _incompetence_ is going to be a problem," Chief Daniel replied.

"I'm not incompetent!"

"A bound man knocked you to the ground with his head." The Chief motioned to Ethan. "And then a ten-year-old boy gave you the slip."

"I'm only nine, actually," Ethan said.

Chief Daniel chuckled. "Pale Big Balls indeed." He turned to Shorty. "I swear to God Almighty, Tihkoosue, if you weren't my nephew..." He shook his head. Then he pointed to Daryl. "Now stand him up, cut him loose, and let him take a piss. Cut the boy loose too. We're probably going to be here for few days while their doctor treats Cassie. They can't be bound the entire time. Just _pay attention_ to them!"

"It's David and Joseph's fault too!" Shorty defended himself.

"We came running because you were screaming your head off," David said. "And then we cleaned up your mess by recovering the boy."

Shorty's nostrils were flaring when he pulled out his hunting knife and cut the ropes from Daryl's hands.

[*]

Carol did whatever Nadia asked her to. She held the patient down while Nadia sedated her. She assisted as the doctor gave her an IV and intubated her. Now, Carol looked at Cassie lying largely still on the table, a tube down her windpipe, her chest rising and falling. Slowly, the anger began to mount.

Here was a woman who had tried to seduce _her_ man - strike one. Then she'd lied about what Daryl had done. Strike two. And then she'd gotten sick, which had led to Daryl and Ethan being taken. Strike three. But still Carol had to make sure there was no out, that this deceitful creature made her way safely home to her Chief.

"There's not much more to be done at this point," Nadia told Carol, "though I think we should take shifts keeping watch and sleeping."

"You go home and sleep first," Carol said. "I doubt I'll be able to."

Nadia, looking exhausted, didn't protest. "If she looks like she's struggling to breathe, come get me." She scrubbed her hands aggressively before leaving the infirmary.

[*]

For the rest of the day, Daryl and Ethan were left unbound. Three men had guns trained on them at all times, while the others went about their business. At least two men were always absent from the temporary camp, no doubt keeping watch over Alexandria from the trees, though they traded shifts. Daryl and Ethan were given food and water and blankets. They all feasted on the sow that evening. Daryl savored the pork, though he wished he had a sweet and spicy Georgia barbecue sauce to go with it.

As the night wore on, Ethan grew tired. Daryl sat against a tree while the boy wrapped himself up like a burrito in his blanket and lay his head on Daryl's upper leg. His little chest rose and fell rhythmically. Daryl rested a hand on the sleeping boy's shoulder and watched Chief Daniel watching them.

The Chief sat cross-legged on his blanket, his rifle resting on his lap, as he stared at Daryl. The fire popped and sizzled behind him, illuminating his face. It was a handsome face, if you didn't count the scar. Cassie had probably crawled into bed with him too. The man was fit, and he wasn't old. He was no older than Daryl, far too young to be a Chief in a traditional tribal culture.

"Yer actually sittin' Indian style," Daryl said, breaking the tense silence.

He expected the Chief to tell him to shut up, but instead, he replied amiably, "My son got in trouble for saying that in kindergarten. They told him he should say criss-cross-apple-sauce."

"You got a son?" Daryl asked.

"Had one. In the End Times. Before the Second World. The Disease got him and his mother. I lost one wife. I won't lose another. After they died, I moved onto the reservation."

" _After_ that? Are ya really even Mattaponi?"

"I am now."

Daryl leaned forward. "Yer men know you ain't?"

"We don't care," said David, who was standing guard a few feet from Daryl's left.

"We know leadership when we see it," added Joseph, who was standing guard not far from Daryl's right.

Daryl looked to his left and right and then back at Chief Daniel. "Are yer men even Mattaponi?"

"David and Joseph are. My brother married a full-blood," the Chief answered, "so my idiot nephew is half-Mattaponi. The rest...somewhere between one-fourth and one-sixteenth."

"Red Bear is Eastern Chickahominy," Joseph reminded him. "And Swift Feet is Pamunkey Nation."

"Well, we're all one big Mattaponi family now," Chief Daniel said.

Daryl brushed away a daddy long legs that was crawling across Ethan's back and then rested his hand on the boy's shoulder once again. "Criss-crosss-apple-sauce?" he asked. "Is that for real?"

"People were very sensitive in the End Times," Chief Daniel said with a laugh. "To think, all the petty things that offended them back then. They even changed the nursery rhymes at my son's school. You know the old woman who lived in a shoe?"

"Had so many children she didn't know what to do?" Daryl asked.

"That's the one. What did she do with them?"

"She whipped 'em all soundly," Daryl said, "and sent 'em to bed." His mama may not have read him Aesop fables, but his nana had recited him plenty of nursery rhymes before she died. He used to go over to her trailer at night, just to listen to her talk, and sometimes he'd fall asleep there on her old living room couch. She'd throw a hand knitted blanket over him and not bother to tell his parents where he was, because they never noticed when he was gone.

"No, no," Chief Daniel told him. "Too harsh! She _kissed them all sweetly_ and sent them to bed."

"Ya bullshittin' me?"

"No. That's what they taught him." The Chief smiled and held up a finger. "But that wasn't the worst one. You know Little Jack Horner?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "He sat in a corner."

"What was he eating?"

"His Christmas pie."

The Chief shook his head. "No, no, that might offend the non-Christians! He was eating his _cherry_ pie!"

"How the fuck did he stick in his thumb and pull out a _plumb_ from his _cherry_ pie?"

"That was precisely my question."

Daryl shook his head. "At least most of the bullshit burned away with the old world."

The Chief studied him. "I think I like you, Redneck Hunter," he said. "But make no mistake. I will kill you and everyone you love if you try to kill any of my men."

"Well, now that we got that all cleared up," Daryl said, "Guess I might as well catch some shut eye." He took the blanket the Chief had given him, which was draped around his shoulders, and folded it into a pillow. He eased his leg out from under Ethan ever so slowly and lay the boy's head down on the long, folded blanket instead. Then he lay down on his side behind him and draped an arm protectively over the boy before closing his eyes.

[*]

The match wooshed to light and the flame touched the wick of the candle. The glow illuminated Rick's haggard face and Michonne on the couch. "Come to bed," he said. "What are you doing sitting in the dark?"

"Worrying."

"Judith finally settled down. Carl's snoring like a chain saw. Come on." He jerked his head toward the stairs.

Michonne rose and put her hand in Rick's. He took the candle in his free hand and guided them up the stairs. When they were settled in bed, he said, "Daryl and Ethan are coming out of this alive."

She rolled toward him and placed a hand on his cheek. "I just hope Daryl doesn't do anything..." She shrugged. "Too Daryl."

Rick smiled. "He can get hot under the collar, but he's got the boy with him."

"I'd miss the ornery bastard if anything happened to him." She met his eyes in the glow of the moonlight. "So would you."

"Yeah," Rick said quietly. "But nothing's going to happen to him."

[*]

At one in the morning, Carol was nodding off in the chair where she sat by Cassie's side. Nadia woke her. "Go to bed. I'll take over now."

Blinking, Carol rose.

"Make sure you scrub up before you go back," Nadia reminded her. "It's probably not contagious, but better safe than sorry."

Carol nodded. When she was back in her bedroom, she crawled between the sheets. It was strange, lying in this bed without Daryl. She'd done it before, of course, when he was on runs, but for the past three and a half months, she'd spent almost every night sleeping in his arms, or with her back pressed to his.

Carol drew his pillow to herself and curved her body around it. The scent of smoke and forest and Irish Spring soap penetrated her senses - the smell of her man, who was out there in the forest somewhere, bound and possibly beaten, with the memory not of an "I love you" or a goodbye kiss or even a friendly "See you later," but a stupid, meaningless fight over her girlish fantasy of walking down an aisle in a pretty dress. _I ain't got patience for this shit,_ he'd said. Those were the last words he'd spoken to her.

Carol cried into the pillow until she fell asleep.


	58. Chapter 58

The red line of the thermometer reached to 98 degrees, but not beyond. "Her fever has completely broken," Nadia told Carol. "Now if we can just get her breathing under control."

"Rick and I are meeting with the Chief in an hour," Carol said. "What should we tell him?"

"Tell him she's improving and that we'll return her when she's breathing on her own. When she's able to speak."

"I hope that's good enough for him," Carol said. "That he'll make the exchange."

Nadia looked down at the patient, who had fallen back to sleep. "I think he really loves her."

"I can't imagine why. Lying slut." Carol felt wrong saying that, but the anger forced the words from her lips.

"This world changes us," Nadia said, "many times over, sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse. Who knows who she's become in the past several weeks? Who knows how people form bonds in this world? I never imagined myself _actually_ marrying Lawrence. Did you ever imagine yourself sharing a bed with Daryl, when you first met him?"

"Honestly?" Looking down at the sleeping patient, Carol said, "If there had been someone like Cassie in our first camp, and she'd come to me in the first few days Daryl was there, before I knew him better, and she'd lied and said he'd tried to rape her, I would have believed her. I'm ashamed to say it, but..." Carol gritted her teeth and shook her head. "How could a woman _lie_ like that?"

"I don't know, Carol, but it's not our job to judge right now. It's our job to heal. We're going to heal this woman. And we're going to get Daryl and Ethan back."

[*]

Rick and Carol met with the Chief, who was accompanied by Big Tree, to give him the prognosis.

"How do we know Daryl and Ethan are alive and well?" Rick asked.

Chief Daniel handed Carol a note purportedly from Daryl. The handwriting was in a somewhat large and sloppy print. The note said:

 _Carol -_

 _I'm ok. Boy's ok. Well fed. Playing mancaluh. Best to cohoperate. I love you._

 _\- Daryl_

"It doesn't sound like him," she said, though the truth was she had no idea what Daryl would sound like in writing. "How do I know if he really wrote this?"

"You don't recognize his handwriting?" the Chief asked. "It's…distinctive."

Rick's lips twitched. The tension made the smile look more like a grimace. "Like a third grade boy's."

"I've never seen his handwriting," Carol said. "He hasn't exactly been spending the apocalypse sending me Hallmark cards." She thought back to their run to Cabela's and remembered Daryl writing on the counter at the winery. She tried to picture the script. It was large and boyish, now that she thought of it, but then again, he'd been writing in dust with his fingertip. "What's mancaluh?"

"He means mancala," Chief Daniel replied. "The game. We have a board."

She ran her eyes over the short note once more. Would Daryl really spell cooperate with an h? She knew he'd dropped out of high school, but he'd made it through ninth grade. Surely his spelling couldn't be _that_ bad? Of course, for all she knew, Daryl was dyslexic.

It was the _I love you_ that really got her. Would he write that to end a note? He'd only even said it _twice_. Then again, he might think this could be the last chance he ever had to say it.

"They're being well cared for," Chief Daniel assured her. He pulled out another note. "This one's from Ethan, for his mother. I'm sure she'll recognize the handwriting."

Carol, feeling relieved, put both notes in her pocket. "It didn't have to happen like this," she told him. "You could have simply asked for our help."

"We thought of approaching you to trade, even before Cassie got sick," Chief Daniel said. "But we weren't sure how you would react. We've watched you for some time. We know you have trading partners, but we don't know how they _became_ your trading partners. You don't know us at all. And you guard your walls day and night, as if you're ready to kill at any moment."

"Ready to _defend_ ," Carol clarified. "But why can't we be friends now? Bring Ethan and Daryl back to us. We'll still treat the woman."

Chief Daniel glanced at Big Tree, whose face was expressionless. He looked back at Carol. "I wish I could, but how can I know for sure you won't just kill her the moment your people are safely behind your gates? Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it didn't _have_ to happen like this. But this is how it _is_ happening."

[*]

On her way back to the infirmary, Carol passed the outdoor sanctuary, where Tom Miller was adding wooden side tables for the communal meals. He left his hammer on a table top and came over to her, his tool belt as crooked as his smile. He _was_ good-looking, with those chiseled features and that jet black hair, those hazel eyes, and that workman's build. Carol couldn't help but notice it. No woman could help but notice it. "How you holding up?" he asked.

Carol nodded. "Hanging in there."

Tom shook his head. "It's a shame Daryl let himself get caught like that."

" _Let_ himself?" Carol said, clearly surprising Tom with the venom in her tone. "These men are highly skilled, and they were outnumbered." Carol didn't know how many men Chief Daniel had, but she'd seen Big Tree, and he'd mentioned a Red Bear and a Swift Feet. There were no doubt several others.

"Yes, of course," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well you succeeded."

Tom smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "Listen, if there's anything I can do, anything at all...even if you just need to come over to my house and talk..."

Carol looked at his hand on her shoulder. Tom had shown her small kindnesses in the past. Joked and even perhaps flirted with her. It had all felt so innocent. Tom _knew_ she was Daryl's. It had been nothing but good, innocent fun. Even when she'd learned from Karen that he was a playboy, she hadn't been too concerned. There were single women to chase. Tom _knew_ she was taken. But, suddenly, it all felt different. Maybe it was the weight of the circumstances that made his obsequiousness seem so much more inappropriate and suspicious.

She stepped away from his touch. "I want to make something very clear. Daryl's my man. And I'm faithful to him."

"I never thought otherwise," Tom insisted.

"Sometimes I get the impression you're angling for something."

Tom hooked a thumb in his tool belt. "Carol, please, don't flatter yourself. I can do _much_ better. I _have_ done much better." He turned and strolled back to the table.

She hated that his insult smarted, but it did. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't any better looking than Daryl. He was just more clean-cut and articulate, and Daryl was probably _much better_ in bed. She didn't say any of that, though. Instead, she called after him, "I see you're not so charming when you don't stand a chance."

He ignored her and began hammering fiercely. She walked past him, head held high, toward the infirmary.

[*]

Rick settled next to Carl in the rocking chair on the porch. The boy was cleaning a wooden rifle. In the old world, Rick had planned to buy Carl his first rifle at sixteen, and to keep it secured in the family gun safe. Lori wouldn't have liked the idea, and they would have fought over it, but he would have done it. But here, his boy had been walking about the world with a revolver on his hip since the age of twelve.

"You'll need to check that back into the armory," Rick told him, "now that we're not fighting."

"I'd rather hold onto it until we're sure," Carl replied, peering at his father through his one good eye. "They could still attack."

"Carol doesn't seem to think they will. Neither do I." Rick settled back in his chair and pushed off the porch. "How's Vicky?"

Carl shrugged. "How would I know?"

"I thought you were trying to woo her."

Carl snorted. " _Woo_ her? What is this? The 18th century?"

"In some ways…" Rick said with a shrug of his eyes. "Yes."

"Yeah, well…I have bigger things to worry about than _wooing_." He ran a rod through his barrel and pulled it out, the cloth blackened. "Like these Mattaponi I should have seen in the trees."

"No one saw them. You can't blame yourself."

"I saw the feathers. I just thought…" Carl sighed and reassembled his rifle. He rested it against the small table between their chairs.

"This will be over," Rick assured him. "And life will be back to normal. As normal as it gets in this world. And when it is…I was wondering. How would you feel if I wanted to make Michonne a part of our family?"

"Isn't she already?"

"A more formal part."

Carl set a hand on the arm of his chair. "You mean, propose?" Carl shrugged. "It's cool." He looked nonchalant, but Rick wasn't sure. Carl tried to be cool about everything these days, but every motherless boy missed his mother.

"I'm not trying to replace your mother. But – "

"- I know. Michonne's never going to be my mother. She's way too cool for that."

Rick smiled.

"But I like her. And she makes you happy. We've got to take what happiness we can in this world."

"You're a wise young man." Rick looked out over the porch railing toward the range where he knew Michonne was practicing. "Think she'll say yes?"

Carl stood up and took hold of his rifle. "I think she'll wonder what took you so damn long."

As he clattered down the stairs, Rick called after him, "We've only been together a few months."

Carl didn't look back, but he replied, "A month is a year in this world, Dad."

[*]

Ethan scooped up the smooth stones and put one in each carved indentation of the wooden mancala board, landing the last in an empty circle across from five stones. "You suck at this game," he told Daryl as he scooped up all of his stones and added them to his store.

They were sitting cross-legged on a blanket on the forest floor while Joseph and David kept armed guard over them. Swift Feet was starting a fire as the sun began to set, and Big Tree was skinning a rabbit. Shorty had been sent to gather berries, though Daryl didn't think he was going to find many edible ones in these woods. He thought maybe the rest of the men just wanted to get rid of him for an hour.

"How long are they going to keep us?" Ethan asked.

"Dunno," Daryl said as he made his move, laying one stone in each cup until he landed across from a cup with just one stone. He picked it up, tossed it in the air, and caught it before placing it in his store. "But Nadia'll save his woman. She's a damn good doctor. The Council'll work out the exchange. It's gonna be a'right."

Ethan scooped up a set of stones and began placing them. "It's okay. I like hanging out with you anyway."

Chief Daniel, who had been brushing his horse, came and sat on the log nearby their blanket. "You shouldn't let the boy win," he said. "It won't teach him anything."

"Trust me, I ain't," Daryl said. "Wish I was."

Ethan looked at the Chief and asked, "Where'd you get that scar?"

Chief Daniel smiled. "I have three different stories to explain its origin. Which would you like to hear? The one involving the herd of wendigo, the one involving the giant black bear, or the one involving the motorcycle gang?"

"I wanna hear the _true_ one," Ethan said.

"The true one's not very interesting. It involves a diving board, the YMCA, and a foolish 17-year-old boy trying to impress a girl."

Ethan looked confused, while Daryl asked, "Did ya impress 'er?"

"Well, four years later she married me."

"The woman who's sick?" Ethan asked.

"No, another woman. But she died, and I came to love another."

"My dad died," Ethan said, "but I don't think my mom's ever gonna love anyone else. I caught her kissing Tom Miller a few weeks ago, but she says they're just going to be friends now, because he's a rake. And I asked her what garden tools have to do with anything, and she wouldn't tell me."

Chief Daniel chuckled and glanced at Daryl. "He's definitely not your son. He talks way too much."

"Chief Daniel don't wanna hear all this, Ethan," Daryl said.

The Chief returned his attention to the boy. "I don't mind. What else do we have to do but talk?"

"I used to hope she'd fall in love with Daryl," Ethan told the Chief. "But now I don't because that would upset Ms. Carol. My mom likes Jim Miller, but he's already special friends with Kendra's mom."

A laugh rumbled in the Chief's chest. "Remind me not to tell you any secrets."

"What did you do for a living in the old world?" Ethan asked him. "I mean, if it's not a secret."

"I was a ranch hand. I mostly broke and trained horses. Tracked and recovered lost cattle. Caught cattle rustlers."

"Cool!" Ethan said. "My dad was an economist. I don't know what he did, really." He turned to Daryl. "What did you do?"

"Odd jobs, mostly," Daryl muttered as he lay a stone in each of the cups and captured only one of Ethan's. He didn't have cool job like Chief Daniel, nothing to impress the boy with.

"Like?" Ethan asked.

"Paintin' houses. Repairin' leaks. Trimmin' trees. Pickin' peaches. Diggin' ditches. Muckin' stalls. Fixin' fences. Washin' dishes. Loadin' trucks. That sort of thing."

"What was your favorite job?" Ethan's last stone landed in his own store, which gave him an extra turn.

"Work is work," Daryl said. "Never had a favorite job. Only a favorite boss."

That had been the owner of the flooring store where he and Merle had worked loading tile for delivery. The man was no-nonsense but fair, and he'd given Daryl progressively more responsibility. He'd told Daryl, "Son, you've mastered the three most important job skills you will ever need." "What's that?" Daryl had asked, thinking he had no skills to speak of. "1. Show up sober. 2. Show up on time. 3. Do what you're told. Those are all the skills you'll ever need in life. I can't tell you how many people I've hired and fired who haven't mastered all of them." Then he'd given Daryl the keys and trusted him to close up. No one had ever done that before - trusted Daryl with property. But Merle made a pass at the boss's daughter one too many times, and he ended up fired. And when Merle got fired...that meant Daryl had to quit, pack up, and move on.

Daryl wondered what his life would have become, if just one time he had told Merle no, that he was staying put. And then it occurred to him that he had finally done that in those Georgia woods, when he'd told Merle he wasn't going on with him anymore, that he was going back to the prison, back where he _belonged_. He'd found his place with Rick's people. And then he'd found it, eventually, in Carol's arms.

Daryl wanted to be back in those arms now, more badly than he'd ever wanted anything.


	59. Chapter 59

Nadia bent down, tilted her ear toward the patient's mouth, and listened for a moment before standing straight again. "Help me take this tube out." A few years ago, Carol would have been squeamish about the slow pulling out of the tube. It would have made her feel like gagging. Now, she thought nothing of it. Cassie gasped twice, and then began to breathe. She blinked and looked around herself, frightened and confused. "Do you know your name?" Nadia asked.

"Cassandra. Cassie."

"Do you know who brought you here?"

"Was it Danny?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"He called himself Chief Daniel," Nadia told her.

"Yes. He's my husband."

Carol felt a sudden jolt of anger. This woman, who deserved nothing, had a man she could call her husband. "So I take it _he_ didn't turn you down then when you crawled into his sleeping bag?"

"What?" Cassie's eyes widened and latched on Carol's face.

Nadia shook her head slightly, but that didn't stop Carol from saying, "You tried to seduce Daryl, and then you accused him of rape. Do you remember any of that?"

"Carol," Nadia said quietly but firmly. "It's not going to help her to heal if you agitate her."

"Where am I?" Cassie asked. "How do you know Daryl? Is he your husband?"

"He's...my…man." That word, which Carol had once cherished calling Daryl, sounded suddenly pathetic.

"Carol, please bring her some fruit juice. With a straw."

Carol held the straw to Cassie's lips and fought the urge to shove it down her throat while the young woman sipped. "I'm sorry," Cassie whispered hoarsely when Carol drew the straw away. "A girl can go insane, living with only her father for two years."

"Stop talking," Nadia ordered.

[*]

Daryl flicked two fingers out at Ethan. Ethan smiled and crushed his fist down on them.

"Wait," Daryl said. "What beats rock again?"

"Paper," Ethan said with an exasperated sigh. On the blanket where they sat, he switched to a cross-legged position, in imitation of the way Chief Daniel sometimes sat.

"How in the hell does paper beat rock?"

Chief Daniel eased himself down on the log. "It wraps around it," he said.

"Can I have a _real_ Indian name?" Ethan asked. "I don't like Pale Big Balls."

"Ethan is a perfectly good name," Chief Daniel told him. "It's biblical. Like mine. It means strong. Optimistic. That suits you. All of my men's names are just like Hebrew names or English names or any other name - they mean something in their own language. Big Tree is just an English translation."

"What does Daryl's name mean?" Ethan asked.

"I have no idea," the Chief admitted.

Red Bear, who stood guard with his rifle resting casually in the crook of his arm, said, "It means beloved."

"When you worked at the ranch in the old world," Ethan asked the Chief, "were you like...a cowboy?"

"I suppose so," Chief Daniel said. "That's why I have these boots." He stretched out his legs to show off his black-and-white snakeskin cowboy boots. Daryl had noticed, at the start, that he was the only one not wearing either moccasins or suede boots.

"But now you're an Indian?" Ethan asked. "And you wear a headdress instead of a cowboy hat?"

He smiled. "I don't always wear the headdress. I mostly wear it for ceremonial purposes, or when I'm trying to make an impression." He leaned toward Ethan, put a hand over his mouth as though hiding his words from Daryl, and said, in an audible whisper, "I think it made an impression on your godfather. He thought he'd stepped back into another century when he first saw me. Didn't even think I spoke English."

Ethan giggled.

Black Snake, a young, lean, dark-skinned Mattaponi man who had been watching Alexandria from the trees, emerged from the forest into the clearing. "The Alexandrians have rung the signal bell."

[*]

Outside the gates, Carol lingered beside the golf cart as Chief Daniel bent to kiss Cassie where she lay on the gurney. She grasped his arms like a lifeline while he peppered her entire face with kisses, whispering endearments. When he rose again to a standing position, Nadia explained to him the prognosis and what he would need to do to treat Cassie in the days to come. "Don't rush things," she concluded. "Let her rest. Keep her in bed for a few more days."

Carol wanted to tell this man, who seemed to love Cassie, what kind of deceitful woman she was, but she said nothing. Instead of letting her anger speak, she let her love. "Will you give us Daryl and Ethan now?"

"After we get her to safety." He nodded to Big Tree, who helped him lift Cassie onto his horse. Chief Daniel mounted behind her, wrapping his arms around her and grasping the reigns. "We'll return in an hour with the man and the boy," Chief Daniel said. "You should have a thousand rounds of .22 and a thousand of nine millimeter waiting for us. Two quarts of oil, a gallon of propane, and a hundred or so double A batteries."

Carol almost asked, "Is that's all?" but caught herself. They must know how big the warehouse was. They could demand anything, and she would try to talk the Council into giving it just to get Daryl back. These men weren't like the Saviors, she decided. This man truly cared for his wife, and her recovery had been his real goal. "We'll have it," she assured him.

[*]

"Play again?" Ethan asked, looking at the mancala board with most of the stones on his store. "Or you want to do scissors, paper, rock?"

Daryl turned when the leaves rustled. Chief Daniel entered the campground, his horse sauntering slowly through the trees, Cassie leaned back against chest. Daryl and Ethan stood.

Daryl could tell Cassie recognized him, though she tried to hide the fact by looking quickly away. His own eyes narrowed instinctively, and he suppressed a rising growl.

"Do you two _know_ each other?" Chief Daniel asked suspiciously, looking from Daryl to Cassie.

"We've met," Cassandra said, and Daryl braced himself for an accusation. "My father took him and two of his people into our winery for a night when they were on the road. They were good people. Daryl was the perfect gentleman."

Daryl relaxed. He supposed the truth frightened Cassie enough that she didn't want to tell a lie that might expose it. After all, what would Chief Daniel think of her if he knew?

"If you knew her," Chief Daniel asked, "why didn't you mention it before?"

"Didn't think ya'd believe me," Daryl said. "Figured ya'd think it was just a ploy to escape."

Chief Daniel still looked suspicious, but he accepted the answer, probably because it was what he wanted to believe. "Big Tree," he ordered as the man emerged from the forest behind him. "Help her down. She needs to rest."

Big Tree eased Cassie from the horse and carried her to a blanket near the fire. The Chief gracefully dismounted and approached Daryl and the boy. "My men will take you back to your people now. No hard feelings?" He extended his hand. When Daryl didn't take it, he continued to hold it out. "You won't ever see my face again, unless we're coming to trade peacefully, without snatching any of your people."

"Ya givin' yer word?" Daryl asked.

Chief Daniel nodded solemnly.

"Hell. I'd of done the same thing for my woman." Daryl reached out, clasped his hand, and shook.

[*]

Four Mattaponi arrived at the gates when the exchange took place. Chief Daniel's horse was among them, but the Chief himself was absent. The marksmen of Alexandria watched from above and below. Rick and Carol went out to greet them, laying the loot at their feet.

Black Snake, the youngest of the Mattaponi, no more than twenty, handed over Ethan's knapsack. Rick took it and nearly dropped it when a loud squeal emitted from it and a tiny snout poked its way out. "What the hell is this?"

"Two piglets," Black Snake said. "The boy caught them. We don't need them. We return them to your people as an offering of peace and good will."

"We want our _people_ ," Carol said. "If you want to show us peace and good will, bring _them_! Not piglets!"

He looked up and scanned the line of marksmen on the wall. His eyes settled briefly on Enid before falling again to Carol. "Soon," Black Snake assured her.

The Mattaponi loaded the rest of the goods onto the Chief's horse, and Big Tree led the horse into the forest. Then he led Ethan and Daryl out, their hands bound behind themselves, stopping a few feet away.

Carol and Rick began to rush forward, but the Mattaponi, guns held before their chests, blocked them. "Wait a moment," Black Snake ordered. "We're going to back away slowly. When we're in the forest, _then_ go to your men."

"Chief Daniel says to tell you we want no bad blood," Red Bear announced to Rick and Carol, loud enough to also be heard by those standing on the wall. "In exchange for the supplies, and for your care of our woman, we will return in two weeks time with two fine horses. We must break them first."

Armed and pointing their weapons toward the gates, the Mattaponi backed up toward the forest line and disappeared among the trees.


	60. Chapter 60

Carol ran to Daryl and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him off balance. Holding his head firmly between her hands, she kissed him fervently. When she pulled away, he looked relieved and happy. "Wanna untie me?" he asked. "Or ya like it this way?"

She couldn't believe he could joke at a time like this, but she smiled as she went behind him to cut the ropes free with her knife.

Meanwhile, Rick freed Ethan. "Did they hurt you?" he asked the boy.

"No," he said. "We played games."

The gates rolled partway open, and Karen came tearing out, sobbing with relief and happiness and gathering her son into her arms.

When Daryl's hands were free, he drew Carol into his embrace and kissed her again, not seeming to care how public the kiss was. When he pulled away, he looked into her eyes. "Carol, I - "

"- Damn you, Daryl!" Karen spat. She was still holding Ethan tightly, but she'd turned her face toward them. "You are _never_ taking him hunting again!"

Daryl's warmth slid from Carol as he stepped away from her and toward Karen. "Listen, I - "

"- Never!"

Ethan pulled free from his mother's embrace. "Mom, don't say that! It wasn't his fault. There was a trap and -"

"- What the hell kind of tracker are you?" Karen yelled at Daryl. "That you couldn't even see a trap? He could have died!"

"Mom!" Ethan insisted. "It's not Daryl's fault. Don't –"

"- It's a'right," Daryl interrupted the boy, stopping in his walk toward them. "I should of been more aware. I'm sorry, Karen. I'm sorry for what ya went through."

"I trusted you," she said. "Never again. You will _never_ take him out of these gates." She grabbed Ethan by the arm and pulled him back toward the safety of Alexandria. The boy craned his neck back to look at Daryl before he was dragged inside.

Daryl sighed heavily.

Carol put a hand on his back. "She'll get over it," she reassured him. "She's upset, but she won't keep you from him for long."

Daryl swallowed. "Hope yer right. But I screwed up. Weren't payin' attention to the signs. I's thinkin' 'how rude I was to ya when I left." His eyes were worried when he looked at her. "Ya mad 'bout that?"

"Daryl, right now, I'm just happy you're safe." She pushed him playfully forward, or tried to, but he was like a solid rock.

He smiled, draped an arm around her shoulders, and walked with her toward the open gate.

[*]

Rick kept fidgeting in his jacket and pocket while they walked around the pond. The soft rays of the setting sun rippled off the green-black surface of the water, chasing each other like children laughing in the twilight. Michonne thought he might have a ring in there, but when he was finally going to draw it out, she couldn't guess. As commanding as he was as a leader, he was strangely reluctant here. After the dinner he'd made them tonight, and served by candlelight, with Carl and Judith out of the house, she'd expected a proposal. She'd half anticipated finding the ring in her dessert. But here they were, still walking, their third lap around the pond.

Michonne couldn't take it anymore.

She lunged at him and dug her hand into the pocket of his jacket. Rick staggered away with surprise, two steps backward, and almost fell in the pond. Water splashed up beneath his heel.

The diamond ring Michonne now held between her fingertips glinted in the last light of the descending sun. "Are you planning to _do_ something with this, Romeo?"

Rick snatched it from her hand. "Give me that!" He shook his head and took in a deep breath. "You've kind of killed the mood now, but..." He nodded. "Fine."

She chuckled as Rick got down on one knee in the tall, lightly swaying grass and held the ring before her. "I had a really fantastic speech prepared, too, I'll have you know. But I can't remember it now. I just...I want you to be my wife, Michonne. I want to face this crazy, scary, beautiful, messed-up world with _you_ by my side. Will you marry me?"

The ring wavered in his fingertips, as though he might not be entirely sure of his reception. But Michonne was sure of her answer. She'd never been married in her life, had never thought much of the institution. But she understood that Rick had a traditional streak a mile wide, and that was part of what kept him anchored and steady. A woman could use an anchor in this drifting world. And maybe now, when the old world and all its institutions were shattered, was the best time to be conventional. Now, perhaps, tradition was the highest form of rebellion. "Yes," she said seriously. "Yes, I'll marry you."

Rick grinned, stood, and slid the rock on her finger.

Michonne splayed her fingers and wiggled them one by one. "But you're going to have to pick me up something more practical. This is going to get in the way of my katana practice."

"You can't even be romantic about this?" Rick asked.

She shook her head slowly.

He rolled his eyes but smiled, and then he leaned in for a long kiss. "Fine," he answered when he pulled away. "I'll get you something small and plain. But, hey, just think. At least now you'll finally have a last name."

"Oh, I'm not taking your last name," she insisted, turning and grasping his hand with hers. "And I _do_ have a last name."

"Yeah?" Rick asked. "What is it? Something exotic?"

"Smith."

A laugh spluttered from between Rick's lips as they walked toward home.

[*]

Carol gasped and arched her neck as Daryl flicked her nipple with his tongue. They'd been exploring each other hungrily, their hands roaming each other's naked bodies as though they had to possess every precious inch, and he could see that the wanting had reached a fevered pitch within her. He loved the way she responded to his mouth on her breasts.

"Ya like that," he told her. It wasn't a question. He flicked her nipple again and was thrilled by her responsive whimper. He kissed his way up to her neck. She was clutching her thighs tightly together, as though trying to contain the heat. He slipped a hand between them, eased them slightly apart, and then teased her with a single finger. "Mhmmm...yeah...That's my girl. Nice and wet."

" _Please._ "

Daryl loved it when she begged him. It was like some kind of drug, the sound of her plea, rushing right to his head. "Whatcha want, Carol?"

" _You._ "

He raked his teeth over her earlobe and asked, "Where ya want me, girl?"

" _Please_ ," she whimpered.

Daryl forced her legs apart with his knee and then shifted himself atop her."Here?" he asked as he plunged inside.

It was a good thing that the room on the other side of their wall now belonged to a deaf girl, given how loudly Carol shouted, "God yes!" She was usually fairly quiet during their lovemaking, so on those rare occasions when she cried out loudly like that, the sound struck him like a thunderbolt shooting a sizzling current to every nerve.

The bed shifted and creaked beneath their fervent movements. Their lips met between groans and ragged breaths. Daryl had to force himself back from the edge twice, but, in the end, they came toppling over the precipice together, swallowing each other's final moans in a mutual kiss.

Both took a long time to catch their breaths afterward. At first, Carol clung to him like she was afraid he might be abducted right there, straight from their bed, but then she relaxed into a loose embrace. He was feeling sleepy and thinking how grateful he was to be so warmly welcomed home when she said, "We should probably talk about the fight we had."

Daryl's muscles tensed. He had hoped she was going to sweep all that under the rug, and that they could just move on as the couple they had been.

"I'm not asking you to do anything," she clarified. "I just want to _understand_. Why does the idea of getting married actually seem to _upset_ you?"

His fingers found their way into her hair. Her head was on his chest, so at least he didn't have to look her in the eyes when he tried to answer. "Just...I..." She waited wordlessly while he formed his words. It took him awhile. "I thought things were goin' well. I's tryin' so hard." Harder than she knew. The domestic life wasn't easy for him. "Things felt good between us. Real good. Thought I was makin' ya happy."

She raised her head to look at him. "I _am_ happy with you."

"Ain't good enough though, is it?"

Her eyes, rather than her mouth, asked - _What?_

"Ya want a weddin'. Ya think it's gonna change somethin' 'bout me, but it ain't. It ain't the kiss that's gonna turn the frog into the prince. If'n we get hitched, the next mornin', yer still gonna have a frog."

Carol smiled affectionately. She bent and kissed his shoulder, before looking back up at him. "Daryl, I don't want a wedding because I want _you_ to be someone you're not. I want one because I am who _I_ am."

"Why ya even want one?"

"At the end of the day, I'm just a girl _._ I'm not as deep or as different as you think I am. I want the same things so many women want. I'm completely ordinary that way."

"Ain't nothin' ordinary 'bout you." He ran his hand down from her neck to the small of her back, where he rested it.

"Except there is," she said. "And I feel like you're belittling that part of me. If you don't want a wedding, Daryl, that's fine. That's not you. I get that. But don't look down on me for wanting it."

"Ain't lookin' down on you!"

"You told me I _couldn't_ want a wedding. Like it was absurd even for me to _want_ it."

"Didn't mean to make ya feel like that. I guess...I feel like if we don't do that, if'n we don't get hitched, ya won't expect as much, so ya won't be as disappointed in me."

She rested a hand gently on his cheek and forced him to look at her. "I love you, Daryl. You don't disappoint me. I'm _proud_ to call you my man." She kissed him. "I don't need a wedding. Sure, maybe I want one, but I don't _need_ one. I just need _you_. The _real_ you."

He pressed his forehead against hers and breathed in her scent - flowers and clean earth and sex. "I need ya, too, Carol. So goddamn much."


	61. Chapter 61

Carol was still asleep when Daryl left the house. He made his way to the arsenal, because he thought Karen would be reviewing the ledgers. He was right. She was hunched over the counter scribbling in the account book. He cleared his throat.

Karen stood straight. "These accounts are a mess. No one signed anything out when they thought they might have to fight the Mattaponi."

"Mhmh."

"You need more ammunition?" She flipped a page and began scanning the D's.

"Nah," he said. "Wanted to talk to ya."

She set the pencil down and closed the register. "The answer is no."

"Look, I understand yer angry. And – "

"- You have no idea, Daryl. I already lost my husband. And then I almost lost my son."

"We've all lost people. And Ethan's fine."

"No thanks to you. And it's not the first time he's nearly died because of you. You had him hunting raccoons under porches."

Daryl breathed out through his nostrils and tried not to show his irritation. Or his fear. But his voice wavered a little when he said, "Don't take 'em from me. Please."

Karen sighed. She closed her eyes and rubbed them. When she opened them again, she said, "Ethan was asking about you this morning."

"Yeah?"

"My son adores you, Daryl. God knows why, but he does, and I'd be a pretty oblivious mother if I couldn't see that. He's living in a house with three women, and he needs male influence in his life. I'm not going to cut you off from him. I just…you can't take him outside the gates anymore."

"Yes'm," he said, relieved she wasn't keeping Ethan from him entirely. He wasn't going to argue with her now, but, eventually, he would. Alexandria needed more hunters. Ethan needed to learn, to practice, outside those gates.

Karen shook her head and almost laughed. "Do you know, Ethan talked like he actually had fun while you were being held captive. Like he thought he was camping."

Daryl shrugged. "Once they took off the ropes, it was a'right. Good food, games, storytellin'."

"Sounds like he wants to run off and join the Mattaponi. I got an earful about Chief Daniel breaking the angriest horse you ever saw and tracking down the meanest cattle raiders in all of King William County. I think if I tried to keep _you_ from him, Ethan would run away and join _them_. So do you want to come over tonight? Around 7:30? Play with Ethan for awhile?"

"Really?"

She nodded. "His bedtime is 9:30, so, a couple of hours?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

[*]

Carol sighed and ran a gloved hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of brown dirt. She and Sofie were working with the monks in the fields that had lain fallow in winter but given rise to onions, perpetual spinach, garlic, and peas in the spring. The seeds and garden supplies they had cleaned out of Cabela's had served them well.

"You okay?" Sofie asked her.

"I'm fine. Just a little tired. And it's _hot_." The weather had warmed steadily throughout the afternoon, from a cool of 59 in the morning to a high of 79. Of course, Carol wouldn't _normally_ call 79 degrees hot, certainly not after a lifetime in Georgia, but maybe she'd gotten used to the Virginia winter.

Brother Stephen glanced over at her from where he was working. "You look a little pale," he told her. "Go get some water and rest a spell."

She did, cooling off on the shaded porch of the nearest house, which happened to be Maggie's. Maggie came out on the porch bouncing a wailing Baby Hershey in her arms. "I think he's got colic."

"Try running the vacuum cleaner," Carol suggested. "That always worked for Sophia." She was surprised to find she could mention her daughter with only a faint stab of pain. For a long time, she avoided speaking of her at all.

"I'll try that later. Thanks." Maggie looked out over at the fields as Hershel's cry settled into a low but consistent whimper. "You're working so hard. I feel so useless."

"You've got an infant. The most useful thing you can do right now is take care of that little cutie." Maggie looked exhausted, and Carol thought how hard it must be to have an infant in this world, knowing there might be an enemy at your gates at anytime, or that you might have to run...knowing you couldn't contribute as much to the building of the community as you might like - finding yourself _dependent_ on others. Carol had lived a life of dependence on Ed, and it had trapped her. She was glad to be free of that now. And yet, there was something deeply beautiful about that baby, even in his plaintiff little cries - the promise of a future.

And Carol had her family, too. Even if it wasn't _official_ and might never be, she had something of a husband in Daryl. She had a daughter in Sofie, a stepson in Ethan, and more than friends and the children of friends - a larger gaggle of brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces than she ever could have imagined.

When Maggie went back inside, Carol collected Sofie and the vegetables they had harvested to bring them home to wash and chop for the afternoon door-to-door distribution. They passed the newly built pig pen on the way, where the lpiglets squealed and wallowed in a mud puddle, and Sofie stopped to ooh and ahh and make kissing noises at them.

"You shouldn't become too attached," Carol warned her.

"I know. We're going to eat them one day. Wilbur first. He's the fat one."

"Wilbur?" Carol asked. "You've named them?"

"The other one's Porky. Ethan named him."

Carol chuckled, put a hand on her shoulder, and said, "Let's get these vegetables washed."

[*]

Michonne didn't flash her ring when Carol stopped by with their rations from the greenhouse, but Carol's eyes fastened on it nonetheless, and a brief cloud of jealousy drifted across her face before "Congratulations" fell from her lips.

Michonne didn't pry. She could only guess marriage was not on Daryl's radar, even if it might be on Carol's. "We're in no rush," Michonne assured her, as if that could somehow make a difference. "We're not marrying for a few months. Not until sometime in the fall. We have those trade meetings with the Hilltop and Kingdom to think about. And the summer will be hot."

Carol pushed aside the container of vegetables she'd placed on the counter and asked to see the ring more closely. "It's beautiful."

Despite Michonne's insistence on a plainer and more practical ring, this one was growing on her. Besides, she could probably put an eye out with that stone, if ever the need should arise.

Carol let go of her hand. "And I thought you considered marriage bourgeois."

Michonne shrugged. "Sometimes you have to compromise."

Carol chuckled. "When I compromise with Daryl, that means I have to allow blood on the back porch, and he agrees to keep it off the front."

[*]

When Daryl arrived at House #7 for his game night with Ethan, Tom Miller's older brother James was clamoring down the front stairs, a hand lodged in his salt and pepper hair, his hazel eyes clouded with irritation.

"Evenin'," Daryl said to the fisherman.

James just dropped his hand and grunted.

Daryl mounted the stairs, knocked, and waited. Karen answered. She peered at James retreating down the alley way. "Cora just broke up with him," she said. "He's not happy about it."

"Ah."

"I don't think they were the best match anyway," Karen said. "She likes younger men."

"Mhm." Daryl hoped that was the end of that conversation. He didn't much like town gossip. Mercifully, it was. Karen led him to the kitchen and left him alone with Ethan, who was stirring something in a green, plastic mixing bowl.

"You like butterscotch pudding?" Ethan asked.

"Love me some butterscotch," he said.

Ethan messily scooped him a bowl and said, "I got us Stratego."

Daryl sat down and dipped his spoon into the butterscotch pudding and looked at the board game. Ethan had already set up his side with little blue pieces. On Daryl's side, the red pieces rested in their container. He looked over the faces of men, the bombs, and the flag. "How ya play?"

"You never played this with your big brother when you were growing up? Its from the olden days. Like the 1970s or something."

Daryl chuckled. "Don't let yer mamma hear ya call the 70s the olden days."

"Well," Ethan said authoritatively and with a grin, obviously pleased to be teaching Daryl something for a change. "The object is to capture the flag..."

Daryl caught the swing of the game quickly, but he let Ethan win. Despite the lie he'd told Chief Daniel, he'd let Ethan win at mancala too. Daryl had never won anything when he was a kid. Merle or one of his many cousins was always beating him at everything - foot races, lawn darts, boxing, poker, wrestling matches, plinking cans, you name it - and his father was just plain beating him. He'd never felt like he _could_ win, no matter how hard he tried. Daryl had to correct Ethan enough as was when it came to hunting and shooting. There every error mattered, and some could even result in death. But here, at the kitchen table, it was just a game. He just wanted the boy to feel good about himself. He liked Ethan's happy "Yeaaaah!" when he captured the flag.

"Damn," Daryl muttered. "Ya just blew right through those bombs faster 'en green grass through a goose. Maybe I'll beat ya next time."

[*]

Carol was already asleep when Daryl got home from his game night with Ethan. He headed to the kitchen to pour himself some beer. The flame of an oil lamp flickering from the kitchen table as he neared the entryway. Power restrictions were still in place during certain hours, but he didn't think opening the fridge counted.

He caught Sofie sneaking a cookie from the yellow ceramic cookie jar. She jumped when he walked in. "Didn't see it," he said. "Never happened."

She smiled. "There's still one left if you want it."

"Save that for Carol."

Sofie made herself a glass of milk from evaporated powder and then sat down at the table before the oil lamp while Daryl poured his beer. He stood behind the counter across from the table and sipped. Daryl wondered if she had a bedtime, like Ethan, and if she was up past it because Carol had gone to bed early. Carol usually "tucked" Sofie in, with a few minutes of conversation and a nighttime prayer, but he didn't remember what time that usually happened, or if it was the same time every night.

Daryl thought eleven was too old to be getting "tucked in," but he didn't know. He didn't remember ever being "tucked in," except occasionally by his Nana Willie Mae, on those nights when he'd run barefoot through the dirt over to her trailer after sunset because his daddy was drunk and angry, or his folks were fighting too loudly, or he was just plain scared and couldn't sleep. Sometimes, he'd fall asleep on her worn couch to the sound of her telling stories and wake up the next morning with a green and white crochet blanket draped over him. That's where he learned about the Cherokee rose and the chupacabra, about how brer rabbit earned a dollar a minute, how brer fox caught old man tarrypin, and why lizards can't sit. It was also where he learned that it was possible to disagree with someone without insulting them, screaming, or throwing things. But she'd died when he was six.

"Did you have fun at Ethan's?" Sofie asked.

Daryl wasn't used to Sofie saying much to him. "Yeah. Played Stratego."

"I love that game. My brother Andy used to play it with me."

"Well," he said, after taking another sip of the beer, "I bet Ethan would play it with ya."

"I guess I should spend more time with him." Sofie set down her milk. A white mustache lined her upper lip. "Since he's going to be my husband and all."

Daryl choked on his beer. He swallowed it down. "What?" he asked. "Yer 11. Ain't gettin' married anytime soon."

"I'm almost 12. And I didn't mean soon. But probably when I'm 20 and he's 18."

Daryl tried not to laugh. "Yeah? Does Ethan know 'bout this?"

"Ms. Carol says boys don't think about those things the way girls do. But I know it's going to happen."

"What if he don't want to marry ya?"

"Who else is he going to marry? Kendra? They hate each other. She's always borrowing his stuff without asking, and she broke his model airplane."

"He don't have to get married at all."

"I guess not," Sofie said. "If he wants to die sad and alone." She finished off her milk in two big gulps and walked over to the sink. Daryl watched her curiously as she flicked on the faucet with her stub and then held the glass in her good hand to wash it. She turned it over in the drying rack. "I was really scared Ethan wasn't going to make it home. I was scared about you, too."

"Me?" he asked. He didn't think Sofie cared much whether he was around or not. She might even prefer that he wasn't. Then she could have Carol's attention all to herself.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I just feel safer when you're in the house."

Daryl swallowed, even though there wasn't any beer in his throat at the moment. He tried to think of something nice to say, but he couldn't.

"Well, goodnight!" Sofie said cheerfully. She lit a candle on the oil lamp and took it with her to guide her way back to her room.

Daryl was not alone with his beer for long. Stone came in the kitchen soon after Sofie left it. He nodded to Daryl's beer as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Anymore of that left?"

"Yeah. _My_ other pint." It looked like everyone else had already drunk their rations for the week.

Stone got himself a glass of water instead. "We're all glad you're back safely, but now that you are..." Stone sipped his water and shook his head. When he lowered his glass to the counter, he said, "All these women ever talk about is how hot some of those Mattaponi men were."

"What women?"

"Well, Enid for one. She was talking about some guy around my age," Stone said. "Chief Daniel kept sending him to get updates."

"Black Snake, probably," Daryl said. He'd learned everyone's names by the time he was released.

"Enid's been blowing hot and cold with me ever since Carl started taking Vicky on picnics. Now that he's interested in someone else, I think maybe she's interested in _him_ again. You know how girls are."

"Nah," Daryl said. "I don't."

"So now Carl has a chance to doubly piss me off - break my sister's heart and steal my girlfriend. Well..." Stone shrugged. "Steal her _back._ "

"Carl ain't that stupid," Daryl said. "Bird in hand's worth two in the bush."

Stone snorted. "I don't know. I think t _wo in the bush_ would definitely be better than _one in the hand_."

Daryl glowered. He drained the rest of his beer and set his glass in the sink without rinsing it. "'Nite," he said, and headed up to the blissful silence of his bedroom, where the only sound was the soft, peaceful breathing of the woman he loved.

[*]

Carol was sound asleep when a touch on her shoulder arose her. She opened one eye. Daryl was dressed and sitting atop the comforter. The sunlight was bursting through the window like a spotlight.

"C'mon, lazy bones," he said. "Time to rise and shine."

She yawned, rolled onto her back, and begged him to set the alarm for ten more minutes. He put the back of his hand on her forehead. "Ya feel a little warm. Maybe ya better see Nadia."

"I've been so tired lately," she said. "I was nauseated this morning too."

"You's helpin' Nadia, weren't you? With the sick woman?"

"Nadia didn't think it was contagious."

Daryl raised his voice: "Didn't _think_?"

"It's not usually," Carol reassured him. "There's never been a case of human-to-human transmission in the U.S. And we wore masks and gloves the whole time we were treating her. I'm sure I can't have gotten it."

"Ya better see Nadia," he said. "I won't go huntin' this morning."

"Go. There's nothing you can do, anyway. And you'll just make me more anxious, hovering around."

"A'right. But I ain't stayin' out long. Comin' back early to see how you's doin'." He bent and kissed her forehead.

"Don't kiss me," she insisted. "Don't want you to get whatever it is."

"Little late for that," he said. "I'd of got it already if I was gonna."

That was true. If she had hantavirus, and it was suddenly contagious between people, and he wasn't immune, he'd have picked it up. And - oh God - she'd been near Maggie's baby yesterday. At least she hadn't held the tiny thing. But she _had_ washed those vegetables and chopped them - for the _entire_ town.

Guilty images of David and Karen's burned bodies flashed through her mind. Wouldn't that be some kind of just punishment, if the town should wish they had burned _her_? She pushed the frightening thoughts down deep. "It's probably nothing much," she said, reassuring herself more than him. "Probably just a little bug. Maybe heat exhaustion. I was working in the fields for a long time yesterday."

"Yeah, I reckon. But just in case - get up, get yerself dressed, and go to the infirmary. _Now_."

"Yes, sir," she teased with a smile, to show him she wasn't worried. But when he left to go hunting, she couldn't stop picturing Cassie, pale as the sheets, shaking with fever, a tube down her throat just so she could breathe.


	62. Chapter 62

As Daryl was heading to the gates, he walked by House #3. Tom Miller and his brother James lived there, along with their sisters Tabby and Mary. Daryl was just passing the stairs that led down from the porch when the screen door burst open with such force that it came off one of its hinges. James and Tom came tumbling out, grunting and grappling until they brought each other down onto the wooden planks of the front porch.

Daryl stood and stared. It was messy, and he couldn't quite tell who had the upper hand until James straddled his brother and pulled back his fist to strike. It didn't even occur to Daryl to interfere. He and Merle used to do something like this at least once a month, for some dumb ass reason or another. But it surprised him to see two clean-cut, middle-class men doing it.

Daryl winced instinctively when the punch landed on Tom's face with a smack. Tom's nose spurted blood. That seemed to satisfy James, because he stood up. Breathing hard, he stumbled back before he could find his feet. "All the single women in town swooning over you, and you have to go for _mine_." James shook his head and wiped his hand clean of his brother's blood, leaving a streak of reddish brown on the upper leg of his blue jeans. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He turned toward the stairs, which was when he spied Daryl.

"Mornin'," Daryl said, looked straight at the ground, and then hurried on.

[*]

Nadia sanitized the thermometer and replaced it in its container. "I don't know what Daryl was talking about," she said as she turned back to Carol. "You don't have a fever. You probably felt warm because you were buried under the blankets sleeping."

"I _have_ been really tired and nauseated, though. Isn't that one of the early symptoms of hantavirus?"

"Any diarrhea?"

"No."

"Difficulty breathing?"

"No."

"Headaches?" Nadia asked.

Carol shook her head.

"Dizziness?"

"No, none of that."

"Lie down," the doctor ordered. Nadia did not have the most pleasant bedside manner, but when she spoke, one took her seriously. Carol stretched herself out on the infirmary table.

"I doubt you have hantavirus. I really don't think Cassie was contagious, and we took precautions." The doctor raised Carol's shirt and examined her stomach. "But I want to test you for something else." She lowered the shirt. "You can sit up."

Carol swung her legs over the edge of the table as she pulled herself into an upright position. "Test me for what?"

Nadia rummaged through the supply closet and returned with an unopened cardboard box, which she handed to Carol.

Carol looked down at the container. "This is an E.P.T."

"Yes. Do you want to take it here or with Daryl?"

Carol laughed. "It's not possible."

"Are you and Daryl using protection? Because he hasn't taken any condoms out of inventory." Birth control had to be rationed, just like everything else, and it was stored in the infirmary. Nadia must know a lot about people's sex lives.

"No, but, Nadia, I'm forty-six. The idea is ridiculous."

"The odds of pregnancy over the age of forty-five are only three to four percent, but it happens. When was your last menstrual cycle?"

Carol tried to think. "Eight or nine weeks ago, maybe. But that's not that unusual for me. I've gone three months without one before. I figured I was getting ready to go through menopause."

"Have you been gaining weight?" Nadia asked.

"A little, sure, but I wasn't getting much exercise when I was in that sling. And I've been baking a lot lately, with all the new supplies."

"Tenderness in your breast area?"

Carol considered the question. "Maybe a little, but I thought that was because Daryl was - " She flushed. "Paying a lot of attention to them."

Nadia chuckled.

Carol shook her head. "I _always_ had problems with fertility. And now that I'm as old as I am...I can't believe it's possible!"

"What do you mean, problems with fertility?" Nadia asked.

"It took me almost six years to get pregnant with Sophia. And then I _never_ got pregnant after her, and Ed and I didn't use anything."

Nadia unwrapped her stethoscope from her neck and slid it in her jacket pocket. "Did it ever occur to you, Carol, that it was _Ed_ who was not fertile?"

No. It had not occurred to her. Ed had beaten her down so thoroughly emotionally, that it had not occurred to her anyone _but_ her could be at fault for her failure to get pregnant. And, even when she was free of Ed, for some reason, she hadn't thought to re-examine those assumptions. She looked down at the box in her hands. "Oh God," she said. "I told Daryl I couldn't get pregnant."

"You _probably_ shouldn't have told him that," Nadia suggested. "The odds were low, but...there was always a _chance_."

"Oh God," she said again. "He seemed so relieved when I told him that, too. I don't think he wants a baby. I don't know if I do. In this world? And as old as I am? What are the chances it will be healthy?"

"Carol." Nadia put a hand over hers and looked her in the eyes. "It's not the end of the world, even if you _are_ pregnant. We have decent medical care here now. I'm not bad at my job."

"You've made _one_ low-risk delivery."

"I'll try not to take that as an insult," Nadia said. "Because it's true. I was not an OBGYN. But I'm highly experienced when it comes to high-risk surgery. I don't think a C-section would be a problem for me, if you end up needing one."

"I'm too old to have a baby!"

"Don't worry about this right now. Take the test. If it's positive, _then_ we can discuss your options."

Carol looked at the box in her hand. "I want to take it here," she said. "I don't want to alarm Daryl if it just turns out to be negative."

Nadia nodded in the direction of the bathroom.

[*]

"Hey, Daryl, hold up!" James Miller jogged to catch up with him as the gate rolled open. "You hunting near the stream?"

"Maybe," Daryl said. He didn't have a specific plan. Without Ethan to take with him and train, he felt a little listless. Daryl hoped Karen soon relented on her "no outside the gates" rule. In addition to feeling aimless, he was worried about Carol's health. If she had somehow contracted the virus, he hoped Nadia would catch it in time, if it _could_ be caught "in time." He had no idea how these things worked.

"No one should be out there alone," James said, "especially after what happened."

"When those Indians come back, it's just gonna be to give us some horses."

"Well," James lifted his tackle box, "I want to try to catch something in the stream anyway."

"With yer bare hands?" Daryl asked.

"Left the poles and nets in the pick-up out there."

"A'right, but you got to be quiet when we's hikin' that way. Don't scare off the game."

James nodded and they headed into the world beyond the gates.

[*]

Rick handed Michonne an extra box of 9 mm ammo for the gun she wore on her hip. The katana was her go-to, but she didn't want to be without firepower if she needed it. She took the box and slid it into her backpack, which rested on the living room couch.

"Maybe they should elect a new chairman next year so the Council will let me go on these runs with you," Rick said.

Michonne put a hand on her hip and eyed him. "What if _I'm_ elected Chairman?"

"Fair point. Be careful out there."

She zipped up her back pack. "Don't worry. Abraham's coming with me. And I think he's bringing a small arsenal. Sasha's going to need maternity clothes, and apparently Maggie's old ones aren't good enough."

"Nothing's too good for his woman, I suppose," Rick replied. "Or mine." He put a hand on the small of her back and gave her cheek a little kiss. "Are you going to pick out a wedding dress while you're gone?"

"I suppose. Though our wedding is still months away."

"Who's going to be your maid of honor?"

Michonne hadn't thought about that. She'd never made female friend's easily, not in the old world, and not in this one. She'd always had a boyfriend, or two, and their male friends were often her friends by extension...but girlfriends. Girlfriends were trickier. Andrea had been one of the closest friends she'd had since elementary school, and she'd felt betrayed by her when she'd gone to the Governor. "You know...I don't know."

"Too many to choose from?"

Michonne laughed nervously. More like no one she wouldn't feel at least slightly awkward asking. She liked Carol and Maggie and Sasha, and she'd been with all three since the prison, but she wasn't sure if any of them would expect to play a role like that. "Maybe I'll ask Daryl," she quipped.

Rick blinked.

Michonne chuckled as she walked toward the front door.

[*]

Carol came out the bathroom with the EPT in its plastic container. She set it down on the counter. Nadia looked down at the little blue plus sign.

"I should take another," Carol said.

"I only have five in inventory," Nadia told her. "I don't want to waste one. These are 99 percent accurate, and when it's not, it's because of a false _negative_."

Carol suddenly felt weak headed. She stumbled back into a chair and sat down hard. "Oh God," she muttered. "I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if Daryl _wants_ this."

"We have pills now. Abortificants. If that's what you decide you want to do, I'll walk you through it. God knows I'm in no position to judge when it comes to that. But you have a man who loves you, who is the father of this child. Talk to Daryl. And realize that if you proceed with this pregnancy, you won't be alone in it. Maggie had a successful delivery and a fine, healthy baby. Sasha's pregnancy is proceeding swimmingly. I'm here to be your doctor. This is not the end of the world."

"Actually, it _is_ the end of the world," Carol said, feeling like she was drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions. "The times we're living in."

"Maybe it's the beginning of a new world," Nadia said. "And maybe you can be a part of that. You're an excellent mother to Sofie. What scares you so much about this?"

Carol had made herself capable, and a pregnancy and a baby would make her weak and dependent again. How did you fight when you were seven, eight, or nine months pregnant? When you had a child to nurse? And what if she lost another child, like she'd lost Sophia? After she had carried that child in her own womb, and suckled it at her own breasts, and counted its fingers and toes, and kissed its soft hair? How could she endure such a loss again?

And yet...Nadia was right. Life was marching on. Some kind of new world was dawning. Carol had taken too many lives already. So many lives. How could she possibly consider taking this one? There was no reward without risk and no love without loss. Like Lawrence once said, surviving isn't living.

But the question still remained - how would Daryl take the news?


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N** : For those who might be interested reading one of my "real life" novels, I wanted to let you know that the Kindle Version of Roots that Clutch is 67% off today through March 3 on Amazon (making it just 99 cents). Search for Molly Taggart and Roots that Clutch.

[*]

James _wasn't_ quiet, and Daryl gave up on the idea of catching anything. "About what you saw this morning," James said as they hiked toward the stream.

"Ain't my business."

"I'm not usually violent like that. Really. But Tom..." James shook his head. "I don't get why women like him so much. But they always have."

"Hmmm," Daryl said.

"And it's not that I'm jealous. I mean, I am. But I really wouldn't care if I thought he really _liked_ Cora. Hell, I'd even step aside."

Merle had done that for Daryl once, when they were both attracted to a cashier at a hardware store where Merle had gotten them jobs. But when Daryl couldn't seal the deal, because the woman wasn't forward enough and he was too shy, Merle called him a pussy and a fag and Daryl took a swing at him. They ended up grappling and crashing into a shelf, which sent boxes of nails flying and spewing open on the floor. Two customers saw the tussle, and he and Merle were fired that day. Merle had said it was for the best, because who the hell wants to punch a clock anyway, same hours every day, same days every week? _Contract work_ was better, he claimed, and staying in one place was for losers.

"But Tom's just playing." They were at the stream now and James dropped his tackle box. "He's always just playing. Our sister Mary thinks he's a sociopath." James cast his line into the stream so gracefully that it looked like a painter sliding a brush stroke across a canvas. It landed in the stream almost without a sound. "Don't get me wrong. I don't mean Tom has human heads in the freezer or anything like that. But sometimes, I think he doesn't feel guilt. I know a lot of us have shut that part off in this world, to survive...but he's always been like that. Of course, sociopaths can be very charming."

"Ain't nobody called a sociopath where I's from. We just say he's slicker'n owl shit." Daryl reached for the second fishing pole James had brought. After baiting the hook, he cast, but not nearly as gracefully as James had. The hook and bait landed with a loud plop in the water.

"Don't jerk your arm so roughly next time," James told him. "It's about precision, not power."

Daryl was irritated by the correction. Maybe he wasn't a fantastic fisherman, maybe he preferred the thrill of the hunt to standing still in one place, but he'd grown up among woods and lakes and streams. This was hardly his first time fishing. It wasn't even his first time fishing in _this_ stream.

"My one consolation," James said, "is that Tom will be done with Cora in a couple of weeks, and then, when she comes crawling back to me...I can say sorry, baby, you threw away your chance." He reeled in a fish, unhooked it, and threw it flopping into a net he'd spread on the ground. "But she's got to know what he's like. I mean, he bedded Karen and Lydia both already. They all live together. They've got to talk. But I swear, every woman thinks it's going to be different this time, that's she's going to be the one to make him a one-woman man." He shook his head, baited his hook, and cast it gracefully again. "Tom's got game, I'll give him that."

Daryl hadn't meant to talk, but the words somehow slipped out, maybe because the thought had been weighing so heavily on his mind: "Think maybe he's been comin' on to Carol."

"Oh, I'm sure he has. He drops a lot of lures, all over the ocean, and then waits to see which fish take an interest. But I really thought he'd leave my girlfriend alone. I mean, we're _brothers_." James began reeling. He'd caught yet another fish, and Daryl hadn't felt so much as a tug. "Wow! They're really biting today! I thought this stream was dying." James cast again. "I guess what really upsets me is that Cora took the bait. I thought she really liked me."

"Ya talk a lot," Daryl said. He'd never actually talked to James before, except briefly in passing. It occurred to him that he didn't really know the townies very well, that, even though they were one people, one nation...they still hadn't become one family.

"Sorry, yeah. I don't usually talk this much. It's just...you don't talk."

"Been talkin' more than usual." And since Daryl _was_ talking, he might as well ask..."Yer brother ever say anythin' to you 'bout Carol?"

"Oh, man, you don't have to worry about him landing Carol. He's never followed through with a completely _married_ one before." He glanced at Daryl's ring finger and seemed surprised. "You two _are_ married aren't you?"

"We's together."

"But she's not your wife? Huh. I thought you were married before it all started. You know, back in Georgia, before the Outbreak."

Daryl scratched his forehead. "Didn't ya notice she was with Tobin for awhile?"

"I hardly knew Tobin. I don't really hang out with the construction guys. And you and Carol always acted like an old married couple. You know - shared looks, the inside jokes...you just seemed to know each other really well."

Daryl felt a tug on his line and started reeling it in, cranking as fast as he could before the fish could escape. He didn't want to leave empty handed when James already had two, but the hook came up with nothing but a Coke can.

[*]

Carol waited on the back porch. These days, Daryl always came this way after he'd been hunting. He'd drop his kill on the planks, plop down, and skin. The blue paint was stained all over in random patches with dark brown from the blood that had dried there. She sat in the rocking chair, staring out over the porch rail at the dying grass and bushes. They'd had only a few rains so far this spring, and there was no frivolous watering allowed.

She was lost in her worries and second thoughts, her commitment to having this baby rocking up and down like a see-saw in her mind: fear of weakness and loss on the downswing, hope for life and love and renewal on the upswing, and, in the center, an unwillingness to take yet another life.

Daryl's voice broke through: "Look what I got!" He stood at the bottom of the stairs, one leg partly bent, in that relaxed stance that was so familiar to her, holding three fish from a string. He lowered the fish slowly and looked at her. She must look as upset as she felt, because worry flashed through his eyes. His voice was tight when he asked, "Ya ain't got the virus, do ya?"

"Put the fish in the fridge and scale them later. We need to talk."

[*]

"How can there be anything left in this mall?" Abraham asked as he drove the Ford F-450. "Besides clothes?"

"It's a big mall," Michonne told him as she flicked open a magazine. "And it was largely untouched." She clicked open her ball point pen. "Quiz time."

Abraham glanced over at her. "What?"

"Quiz time. It's a requirement for anyone who goes on supply runs with me. Even Daryl took them."

"I don't believe it," Carl said from the back seat. He'd talked his way into the supply run, much to his father's chagrin, but Michonne thought the boy needed the adventure, that he was growing restless within the gates, while Rick – despite all his talk of wanting to go on the runs - was settling in. Rick was strange and admirable that way, Michonne thought – ready to fly into the face of battle when required, ready to lead quietly when it wasn't, a warrior and a public servant, a man with a foot comfortably planted in either world.

"This one's from _Parenting Magazine_ ," Michonne said. "What should you name your child?"

Abraham looked from the road to her stomach. "Do you have news you want to share with us?"

"No. You're the one who's about to become a daddy."

"We already know what we're going to name it," Abraham told her. "Sasha wants to name him Ty after her brother."

Carl leaned forward in the gap between the front seats. "What if it's a girl?"

"Then Tyra."

"Well, the quiz can be for Carl then," Michonne said. "For when he makes me a grandmother."

Carl's eyes grew wide. "What?"

"Not anytime _soon_ , I hope," she clarified.

Carl sighed. "No chance of that." He threw himself back against the back seat.

"Things not going well with the deaf girl?" Abraham asked.

"Her name's Vicky. And they're just going...slow."

"As it should be," Michonne told him, and then placed her pen against the magazine. "What's your favorite color?"

[*]

Daryl clambered up the porch stairs, his gut as knotted as his fishing line had been toward the end of the morning. He burst through the screen door to the kitchen, jerked open the refrigerator, and tossed the fish inside. He hurried back out to the porch and asked, "Ya really sick?"

"No," she said. "I don't have hantavirus. In fact, I'm not sick at all."

Daryl sighed. "Oh, thank God." He leaned back against the porch rail across from her chair. Despite the good news, she still appeared upset. "'S wrong then?" He racked his brain to think if he might have done something to offend her. "I ain't done nothin' wrong, have I?"

"No, but you have done _something_. I'm pregnant."

There was no way she could have just said what he thought he heard. "Yer what?"

"I'm pregnant," Carol repeated.

Daryl whirled a finger to the left of his temple. "Let me process this." Carol had told him she was too old to get pregnant, that she wasn't fertile, that she hadn't gotten pregnant for twelve years despite using no birth control. "Yer pregnant?"

"Yes."

"With a baby?"

"No, Daryl, with a unicorn."

"With _my_ baby?"

"Whose else would it be?"

"You're pregnant, _right now_ , with _my_ baby?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

How was that possible? How could she be pregnant now? With a baby. _His_ baby. He'd _put_ that baby inside her. One night or one morning or another, when he was shuddering and moaning, and thinking how damn good her body felt, they were making a _baby_. "But ya said...ya said there was no way ya were gonna - "

"- I was wrong!" she cried out. There was a thickness to her voice, like she was ready to burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I should have told you there was a chance. I honestly didn't think there was."

Daryl shook his head. He swallowed. He paced the length of the porch.

A baby.

 _His_ baby.

He didn't know what the hell to do with a baby!

Daryl didn't know how to be a father. He'd had a shit father. What if he was a shit father, too? What if he lost his temper one day, and raised a hand to the kid? What if he fell into all of the same patterns he'd seen growing up, or hell, even just a _fifth_ of them?

And Carol wasn't young. They had a clinic, but they didn't have a hospital. What if Carol died in childbirth, the way Lori had, and he lost her forever?

Or what if she didn't die, but he was such a shit father, that she _left_ him?

What if...What if...What if...

Daryl was having trouble breathing. His stomach was devouring itself. He stopped pacing, gripped the porch rail, and bent over it. He retched. The coffee he'd had for breakfast burned like an unholy fire coming up the back of his throat. It mingled with the salty grits and also with the protein bar he'd eaten while fishing, and all three came spewing out of his mouth onto the bushes below.


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N** : _The Kindle Version of my novel "Roots that Clutch" is 67% off today and tomorrow (March 3) on Amazon (making it just 99 cents). If interested, search for Molly Taggart and Roots that Clutch._

[*]

Carol hadn't known what reaction to expect from Daryl, but what she hadn't expected was the disgusting slosh of vomit streaming down on the bushes below.

When she'd told Ed she was pregnant with Sophia, he'd been more pleasant than she'd seen him in years. He'd laughed and picked her up in a great big bear hug and shouted, "I love you!" And Carol had remembered, for that brief instant, why she'd wanted to marry him in the first place.

Ed had laughed...but Daryl was vomiting in the bushes.

When it was all out, Daryl stood straight, his back still to her. His hand wrapped around to the back pocket of his pants, he grabbed the red rag that perpetually hung there and yanked it free. Then he wiped his mouth with it. There was motorcycle oil and gun oil and who knew what else on that rag, and now there was vomit on it, too. Carol wanted to _burn_ that rag.

He turned around. "Sorry. Don't know what just happened." He folded the rag several times and lay it on the porch railing.

"Anxiety attack," she told him. He obviously didn't want this child. So much so that the very idea of it made him _sick_.

"Ain't never happened to me before."

Apparently, her being pregnant was an even worse thing to him than being stuck in a van halfway over a bridge while being rocked by a herd of walkers. Daryl's violent reaction had sent the see-saw in her mind down with a mighty thud. Maybe she'd been too hasty to declare she was going through with this pregnancy. "Should we discuss options?"

He walked over slowly, his footsteps heavy on the porch, and sat in the rocking chair next to hers. "For names?"

His question was so unexpected and so innocent that Carol laughed. "So you _want_ me to have it?"

He looked confused. "Don'tchya?"

She nodded slowly. "I'm scared. Just like you. But I don't want to try to get rid of it. I'm not even sure I can bring myself to do that." She'd climbed more than halfway over her mountain of guilt. She didn't want to add to it by intentionally letting go of this small life.

"Sorry 'bout the pukin'. It's just...I don't know how to be a daddy. My daddy...weren't much of an example. Don't wanna end up like 'em. And I don't want ya to end up like Lori."

Carol reached over and took Daryl's hand in hers. "Lori got a c-section with a hunting knife in the middle of a walker attack. We have a sanitized infirmary manned by a highly skilled surgeon with professional surgical tools. And as for you, you aren't your father. You can break that cycle. You already have. You're like a father to Ethan. A good one."

"I let him get trapped."

"And then made sure he made it home alive. I know you love that boy, Daryl."

"'Course I do. But he ain't really mine. I just take him huntin'. Play with him. I ain't got to _raise_ him. And he ain't a baby."

"Judith was a baby, and you were sweet with her. Now she's a toddler and she still adores you." With Lori dead and Rick out of it, they'd _all_ had to care for Judith, and Daryl had taken a part in that, too. "You know how to feed a baby with a bottle. You know how to bounce one to sleep. You could probably manage to change a diaper, too, though no one could ever get you to do that."

"Ya gonna make me do that with this baby?"

She smiled. "Yes. At least some of the time."

"Might vomit again."

She laughed.

Daryl smiled. "I'd kiss ya, but..."

"Please don't until you brush your teeth."

He looked down at her hand covering his. "Damn," he muttered, his lips twitching in that subtle, barely visible smile of his. He nodded, his hell-yeah nod. "My boys can swim!"

[*]

The supply run team would have made quick work of loading up the pick-up if Michonne hadn't spent so much time trying on wedding dresses. "What if you gain a bunch of weight over the next few months?" Abraham asked her. Michonne glared, Abraham's face went to stone, and Carl laughed.

While Abraham went on to gather maternity clothes for Sasha, Michonne told Carl to pick out a tux for himself and his father. "Me?" Carl asked. "Why do _I_ need one?"

"You're going to be your father's best man," Michonne told him.

"I thought Daryl would do that."

"He wants you," Michonne said. "So start writing your toast."

[*]

"I summon Grand Loki, Red Dragon of the Underworld!" Ethan announced. He and Daryl were sitting at the kitchen table of House #7. "And I attack your Silver Knight of the Middle World! You lose 1,000 health."

"Wait. What?" Daryl asked. "Why do I lose 1,000 health when I got 600 defense and that sonabitch only got 1,000 attack?"

"Because it's a _direct_ attack. My special effect card means I can make one of my other cards _direct_ attack."

Daryl shook his head. "If ya say so." This fantasy card game was absurdly complicated. "I summon Dark Magician of the Fourth Dimension."

"You can't," Ethan insisted.

"Why not? He's is in my hand."

"Yeah, but he's a level E. You can't summon a level E unless you sacrifice two level Cs first."

Daryl was beginning to think Ethan was just making up the rules as he went along.

"Time for bed," came Karen's voice from the kitchen entryway.

"Awww, Mom! I almost drained all of Daryl's health!"

Karen chuckled. "I bet you have. But Mr. Dixon needs to get home, too."

Karen followed Daryl out when he left. They walked past Tom and Cora, who were sitting on the porch swing, Tom's arm stretched out over her shoulders, his nose looking a little bent out of shape, and something of a shiner under one of his eyes. When they were out of earshot, Daryl looked back at the porch swing curiously. "Yeah, they aren't even hiding it anymore," Karen told him. "I think maybe Tom got the broken nose because James hit him."

"Maybe."

"Cora's a fool. James would have made a good role model for her son Jonathan. And he would have treated her right."

"Mhmh."

"How's Carol?"

 _Pregnant!_ Daryl screamed inside. _That's how she is!_ But they'd agreed not to tell anyone yet. "Fine."

"So...I followed you out because I wanted to tell you...thank you. It means the world to Ethan, you taking an interest in him. Maybe he's learned a few colorful words I'd prefer he not have learned, but..." She shrugged. "It means the world to me, too. He was miserable when we lost his father, and scared of his own shadow for months. These days, he's happier and more confident than I've ever seen him."

Daryl smiled at the ground. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe he _wouldn't_ make a shit father. He glanced back up, hesitantly, at Karen. "Uh...so...maybe I could start takin' him huntin' again? In the forest?"

"No way in hell."

Daryl sighed.

[*]

Carl found the tuxes, but Michonne was now looking at bridesmaid dresses, so he peered at the jewelry beneath the shattered glass of the counter. There were mostly wedding and engagement rings, but there were also some bridesmaid's gifts. One of the necklaces made him think of the first gift he'd ever given Enid. It burned him, the way she'd just walked away. Sure, Stone was musical and athletic, and he was nineteen, and he had _both_ eyes…but Carl and Enid, they'd had _chemistry_. Hadn't they?

"Getting something for your girl?" Michonne ask as she lay three dresses on the intact part of the countertop.

"She's not mine anymore."

"You and Vicky broke up?" Michonne asked with surprise. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I meant Enid. Not sure Vicky's really my _girl_." Vicky was a sweet girl, and she was pretty, but she wasn't…well, she wasn't Enid. "We've gone on a couple dates. Kissed a little."

"Pretty sure that makes her your girl." Michonne pointed at a necklace. "That jade pendant will match her eyes."

Carl shrugged, took the necklace, and slid it in his pocket. "What do you need three dresses for?"

"It's good to have options."

"Who is your maid of honor going to be, anyway?"

"Don't ask so many questions," Michonne snapped, and Carl raised an eyebrow.

By the time they gathered up some more tools from the Sears and some food they found in a storage room that had not been busted open on the last trip, it was late.

"I guess we're settling in and going back in the morning?" Carl asked.

Abraham held up a bottle of whiskey. "I found this under the counter in the knife store. Nightcap first?"

Carl grinned and nodded.

"No," Michonne replied sternly.

"Come on, 'Chonne," Carl pleaded, "just one shot."

"Your father wouldn't like it."

"Yeah, but you're _way_ cooler than him."

"Well you're right about that." Michonne held up a finger. " _One_."

Abraham clamped a large hand down on Carl's shoulder. "But don't call it a shot. You're going to drink it slowly, and savor it like a man."

[*]

When Daryl got back from Ethan's he found Sofie in the kitchen, sneaking yet another cookie. He wondered how that girl stayed so thin. She was like a beanstalk. She did spend a lot of time gardening, though, and she never ate much meat. "Carol awake?" he asked her.

"No. She's been going to bed early lately. I hope she's not sick."

"She ain't," Daryl assured her. "She's just tired." _Because she's pregnant!_ He couldn't say that, though.

Sofie continued to chew her cookie and just look at him, so he tried to think of something to say. What did parents say to their kids? All his daddy ever said when he was Sofie's age was _Get out my way_ , or _Clean up them bottles for me_ , or _Hold my beer a sec,_ or _I told you to stop shootin' BBs in the house! Now look at this damn wall!_ But he tried to think what a normal father might ask, because he was going to have to be a normal father one day. "Uh...what ya learn in school today?"

"We don't have school on Friday mornings. Just Tuesday through Thursday."

"Oh. Yeah."

Stone walked into the kitchen and ruffled Sofie's hair. She jerked her head away from him, but she laughed. "Don't!" she ordered. "Or I'll make you braid it for me tomorrow."

"I'm _great_ at braiding hair," Stone told her. "Just ask Vicky." He poured himself a glass of water from the sink. Sofie said goodnight to both of them and disappeared. "Well," Stone told Daryl, "tonight I was formally dumped by the great high queen Enid."

"For Carl?" Daryl asked.

"For no one," Stone said. "At least Carl lost her to _me_. I'm apparently worse than nothing."

Daryl had no idea what to say to that, so he opened the fridge and pulled out the last of his ration of beer.

"I don't even know what I _did_ ," Stone said.

"Well, I don't know nothin' 'bout datin'," Daryl told him, "but ya didn't seem all that hung up on Enid once ya had her."

"Are you suggesting I'm only interested in the chase?"

Daryl didn't answer.

"She's just...Enid's so closed off. She's not really fun. I need a girl who's _fun_."

"Ain't fun times we's livin' in," Daryl told him.

"You have fun with Carol, don't you?"

 _Yeah. Our fun made a baby!_ But he wasn't supposed to tell anyone that. "Mhmh."

Stone finished off his water, rinsed out his glass, and said goodnight.

Lawrence came in next. "Hell is this?" Daryl asked. "A goddamn parade?"

"You aren't the only one living in this house, you know." He glanced at Daryl's beer. "Are you going to share?"

Daryl glowered, but he poured half of his final pint into another glass and handed it to Lawrence.

"Cheers," Lawrence said, and they clinked glasses. "So is my nephew heartbroken about the big break up?"

"Don't sound like."

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised. He's most likely gay."

Daryl choked on his beer and forced it down instead of spitting it out. "What?" he asked. "He's constantly talkin' 'bout girls."

"Classic overcompensation," Lawrence said. "He'll figure it out in time."

"And that ain't bother ya none?" Daryl couldn't give two shits about anyone else's sex life. People were either in one of two categories for him - A. Got my back, or B. Don't got my back. But he also knew that, when he was a boy, anytime he said or did anything his daddy deemed the least bit unmanly, it was always - _What's wrong with you? You some kind of fag?_

"Who knows," Lawrence said. "Maybe he'll become celibate."

"That ain't natural," Daryl replied.

"Tell that to the monks." Lawrence sipped his beer. "I've written another chapter of my book today."

"Who's gonna be readin' this history when it's done?"

"Future generations," Lawrence insisted. "It's going to be a life-long project. I want to cover the first fifty years after the Outbreak."

Daryl looked at him skeptically. "Even if ya live that long, yer gonna be too old to write."

"Well, maybe God will bless me with children, and one of them can take dictation from me. I hope I get one who's interested in modern history."

"Hopin' this one Carol's 'bout to have likes to hunt."

Lawrence lowered his glass slowly to the counter. It landed with a clink on the granite.

"Shit," Daryl muttered. "Wasn't s'posed to tell anyone."

"Well, fortunately, I'm not just _anyone_." Lawrence lifted his glass again. "Congratulations."

Daryl, peering around the counter for fear someone might come in, clinked his glass. "Don't tell Carol I told ya. If'n she finds out ya know - Nadia told ya."

"Carol's not going to be believe that. Nadia maintains strict doctor-patient confidentiality. But my lips are sealed." He put his fingers to his lips and drew them across as if he were tugging a zipper. "How far along is she?"

"Ain't exactly sure. I guess things ain't...regular with her. But...uh...Nadia told her somewhere's between seven and nine weeks already."

"Well, you're taking this surprise like a man."

"Got to," Daryl said.

"But it wasn't planned, was it?"

"Didn't think she could get pregnant. But uh..." He shrugged and smiled. "Guess my boys can really swim."

"Indeed. They should join the Olympic team."

"Ya makin' fun of me?"

"Always. It's how I express my feelings of fondness for you." Lawrence patted the front pocket of the short-sleeve, button-down shirt he was wearing. "Cigars?"

"Yeah. Why not?" Daryl said, and they retreated to the back porch, where they smoked in silence, with an oil lamp on the small table between their two chairs.

Lawrence was talking a lot less than usual, and a thousand worries flitted through Daryl's mind. Finally, he voiced one. "Don't know 'bout bringin' a kid into this world. Don't know what the future holds, for any of us."

"There is no future without children." Lawrence rested his hand on the arm of the rocking chair, and his cigar glowed red. "The Bible says that children are like arrows in the hands of a warrior."

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. "I kind of like that." He took a slow drag of the cigar and blew the smoke out over the railing, where it danced, curled, and gently disappeared, and, in the still of this quiet spring night, he thought, _I can do this._

The screen door eased open and Nadia stepped out. "I thought you were coming right to bed?"

"I got distracted," replied Lawrence, craning his neck back to look at her.

"I can see that. But if you want sex tonight, you better be to bed in the next ten minutes, or I'm going to be asleep. It's been a long day." She went back inside.

Daryl snorted. "She's all business all the time, ain't she?"

"She is indeed." Lawrence stubbed out his cigar and stood. "But at least I'm getting laid tonight. You're going to have to wait another seven months and six weeks." He patted Daryl on the shoulder and disappeared inside.

"Wait," Daryl said, turning, "What?" But the screen door had already eased shut.


	65. Chapter 65

Daryl sat in the straight-back, padded chair, feeling very much the third wheel, while Carol sat on the infirmary table. He didn't see why he needed to be here. _He_ wasn't pregnant. But Carol had insisted he come so he could "discuss any concerns he might have." And, well, the truth was...he _did_ have concerns.

When Daryl got all those books from the mall, Sasha had asked for _What to Expect When You're Expecting._ At the time he'd thought - who needs an entire damn book? How hard can it be? You eat, you sleep, you don't drink and smoke the way his mama had, and, eventually, you push the baby out. Now, however, he began to see why someone might feel the need for resource material.

"How risky is it?" he asked. "For Carol?"

"At this age, there's a higher risk of preeclampsia," Nadia answered.

Daryl didn't bother to ask what that was. He didn't want to sound stupid. He just assumed it was bad. It sounded bad, in a formal, medically way.

"But Carol's blood pressure is excellent right now, so I'm optimistic that won't be an issue. There's also a higher risk of gestational diabetes, but she says she's never had a problem with her blood sugar in the past, so that's good. I'll be sure to monitor her for both as the pregnancy progresses. Her heart rate is great, she's a healthy weight, and in general, she's in superb health. She may even be able to have a vaginal birth, though I think it's not unlikely she'll end up with a C-section. If so - I'm ready to do surgery."

"Ya ever done a C-section before?" Daryl asked.

"No, but I've done plenty of other surgeries. Hundreds of successful surgeries. And I read up on C-sections and everything to do with pregnancy before Maggie gave birth."

"What about risks to the baby?" Carol asked. "Don't they increase a lot at my age?"

"There's an increased risk of miscarriage. I have to be honest with you and tell you that the risk is quite high. One in two women miscarry at your age."

Daryl felt sick at the idea of losing the baby. It had only been a week since Carol had told him she was pregnant, but he'd begun to get used to the idea - _his_ woman, having _his_ baby, the baby that they'd _made_ together. It was such a strange tangle of fear and hope and joy and pride that had been tumbling in his stomach these past few days. The pride was inevitable. In the culture in which he'd grown up, being able to procreate was a mark of manhood. Whether or not a man stuck around regularly to raise the child didn't matter so much - as long as he'd proved he could impregnate a woman. The fear was inevitable too, because Daryl had every intention of sticking around to raise _his c_ hild. He wasn't going to disappear for days at a time, without warning, the way his daddy did, or leave his child's mother, the way so many of his peer's daddies did. The weight of this great future responsibility hung heavy on his mind.

"However, by my estimate," Nadia continued, "you've probably already made it to at least your ninth week, so that's a good sign. Have you ever miscarried before?"

"No," Carol said. "Sophia was my only pregnancy."

"Well, take the vitamins I gave you, don't smoke, don't drink, the usual."

"Oh God!" Carol put a hand on her forehead. "I drank four glasses of wine and champagne at your reception. I didn't know I was pregnant then!"

Nadia patted her shoulder. "Relax. That was one time. Over four or five hours. Just don't drink anymore from here on out."

"But no amount is safe, is it?" Carol asked.

"Carol, really," Nadia said, "don't beat yourself up over that. Just don't drink from here on out. In most cases of fetal alcohol syndrome, there's a lot of regular drinking going on."

"How come I ain't got it then?" Daryl asked.

According to Daryl's big brother, Mama hadn't touched a drop the first four years of Merle's life. Nana Willie Mae was a teetotaling Southern Baptist, and she'd raised Mama to be one too. But two years before Daryl was born, about the time Daddy knocked up that receptionist at the garage where he worked as a motorcycle mechanic, Mama started raiding Daddy's stash of Old Crow. The other woman had a miscarriage, and Daddy and Mama stayed married, but Mama's drinking didn't stop.

"It doesn't happen in every case," Nadia told him. "But I bet you were at least premature."

"Dunno. Probably." Merle had always called him a runt.

"What about risk of genetic abnormalities?" Carol asked.

"It's much higher, of course. At your age, the risk of down syndrome is 1 in 25."

"A retard, you mean?" Daryl asked.

"Daryl!" Carol scolded. "That's an offensive way of putting it."

He honestly didn't understand her rebuke. "Why? Ain't got nothin' 'ginst retards. My cousin Chester was one. Nicest guy I ever knew." Uncle Joe took off when Chester was eight and Daryl was ten, and Aunt Sue struggled to raise her son alone. When Daryl was twelve, she took Chester and moved back home to one of the Carolinas to live with her mamma. That was the last time Daryl ever heard from them. But when he was eleven, Daryl had been forced to kick a few asses on Chester's behalf. Four, to be exact. That was how many ass kickings it took before word got around that you don't make fun of Daryl's retarded cousin.

"Well, if Carol carries to term, you'll have to take your chances," Nadia said. "I don't have an ultrasound, and we don't have the means to perform genetic testing."

"Take whatever we get," Daryl said, though he silently hoped the baby would be healthy, smart, good-looking, _and_ handy with a bow.

"Any other questions?" the doctor asked.

Daryl did have more questions. All about sex. Like how they could have it without hurting the baby. And how far into the pregnancy they could keep having it. And how soon after the baby was born they could start having it again. But he wasn't going to ask any of those. He supposed Carol would know. She'd been pregnant before.

Carol shook her head. "No, I think that about covers it."

Nadia leaned back against a counter top. "Looks like Alexandria is in the midst of a baby boom."

Carol slid off the table. "Listen, Nadia, we aren't telling anyone about this yet. Not until I'm showing. If I lose the baby...I just don't want to have to deal with everyone's sympathy."

"Understood. But...can I at least talk to Lawrence about it?"

Daryl was surprised Lawrence hadn't told Nadia that he knew.

"I don't know," Carol said.

Daryl stood up from the chair. "Let her tell him," he said. That way he could cover his own ass.

Carol looked at Nadia, "I don't think I want you to. No offense, but your husband's not the most discrete person in the world."

"Well, managed not to tell Nadia he knew," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol and Nadia both asked simultaneously.

 _Oh shit._ "Uh...well...Lawrence kind of already maybe knows."

"Maybe?" Carol asked. "How?"

"I might of...let it slip."

"You?" Carol asked. " _You_ let something slip? You hardly ever talk to people."

"Sorry. I...uh...sorry," he finished lamely. He walked toward the infirmary door and tried to think of some excuse to run.

Carol shook her head. "I can't believe it. I can't believe _you_ told him."

"Go easy on him," Nadia told her, smiling with amusement. "He's clearly a proud papa."

[*]

The Council was assembled in Rick's living room. Carol had taken the arm chair. She was tired, but only occasionally nauseated, and it would likely be at least six weeks before she started showing. Then she'd have to tell everyone, but so far, only Lawrence and Nadia knew.

Michonne and her supply run team had returned with new loot, and the inventory was discussed and rations re-allotted. Then Tom Miller reported, "The stables are complete, but do you think the Mattaponi will really show up with these horses?"

Daryl drew his arm off the mantle where he was leaning. "Chief Daniel'll keep his word."

"It's been eighteen days," Karen said. "His man said two weeks."

"He'll _keep_ his word," Daryl repeated.

"They're kidnappers and thieves," Karen told him. "Just because they didn't abuse you while they held you, you and Ethan think they're _nice_."

"He was tryin' to save his woman!" Daryl insisted. "Ya'll see. He'll bring them horses to pay us back."

Rick deflected the argument with a change of topic. "I know the elections are still over four months away, but everyone should start thinking about whether or not to run again."

"Are you going to?" Father Gabriel asked.

"Of course I am," Rick said, as if it shouldn't even have been a question.

"I don't know," Glenn said. "It's all been so tiring with the baby. I might step down. We'll see."

Daryl caught Carol's eyes. She said, "No reason for anyone to step down just because they have a baby, Glenn." She fully intended to run again. She wasn't comfortable with letting a man - or even a council of mostly men - rule her life anymore. She wanted to continue to be a part of the decision making.

" _I'm_ going to be running again," Abraham said, "and Sasha should be popping out our baby near election time."

"A baby's not going to be as easy as you think," Glenn warned him.

Again, Daryl looked at Carol. She shook her head ever so slightly. If Daryl thought someone needed to step down from this Council because of the baby, it could be _him_. It wasn't going to be _her_.

As the Council meeting broke up, some members lingered in Rick's house, talking. Carol went to use the restroom. She had to go so much more often these days. When she was done, she began to open the door, but she stopped, because she overheard voices in the nearby hallway and didn't want to burst in on the conversation.

First she heard Tom saying, "I think our relationship got off on the wrong foot."

Then Karen's voice rose from the hallway: "What _relationship_? We had sex a couple of times, and then you moved onto Lydia. And then Cora."

"Cora was a mistake. Lydia was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. You were the best I ever had. I was a fool not to see that immediately."

"Done with Cora already?"

"I thought it would be honorable of me to step aside, seeing as my brother likes her."

"Honorable?" Karen laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You know, I thought you and I could have a little fun. I knew you weren't serious, and I was okay with that. I figured we weren't hurting anyone by just fooling around. But I had no idea how deep it went with you."

Tom's voice grew cool. "How deep _what_ went with me?"

"You're hurting people now."

"Sounds like what I hurt was your _pride_. You said you were a big girl, but I guess that must have been a lie."

"You know what, Tom? Fuck you. And fuck the horse you rode in on!" Karen's footsteps clomped down the hallway.

Carol waited another minute, until she heard Tom leaving, before she ventured out. She walked down the hall, and when she turned the corner, she was startled by Daryl standing there. He was leaned with one shoulder against the wall, blocking the way. "Ya a'right?" he asked.

"Sure. Just went to the bathroom."

"Saw Tom come out this way. He looked...peeved."

"He was having a fight with Karen," Carol told him.

"Let me ask ya somethin'. He still flirtin' with ya? And don't tell me I'm just bein' jealous. 'Cause it ain't that. He worries me. Somethin' that ain't right 'bout him."

"Actually, Daryl, while you were with the Mattaponi, I realized he was becoming too...forward. And I told him in no uncertain terms that you were my man and he should back the hell off."

Daryl stood up straight, away from the wall, and his eyes lightened a shade. "Ya did that?"

"Maybe not in those exact words, but, yes."

He smiled. He jerked his head toward the front of the house. "Ready to go?"

"Michonne wanted to talk to me about something. I'll meet you back at home."

Daryl leaned in and kissed her cheek before he left, which was not something he normally did. He'd been showing her a lot of small physical affections lately, and she was beginning to think that this pregnancy, instead of being a wedge that might drive them apart, was going to be a magnet that drew them closer together.


	66. Chapter 66

Michonne waited in the kitchen for Carol to join her after the council meeting. After much internal deliberation, she'd decided she was going to ask Carol to be her maid of honor at the wedding. Maggie was too exhausted by her newborn, and Sasha would be well into her pregnancy and hard to fit for a dress. At least Carol wasn't pregnant. And Michonne had probably been closer to Carol than either of the other two, if for no other reason than that they shared a connection in Daryl, with whom Michonne had hunted the Governor. Still, it made her nervous to ask. She felt like a desperate 5th grader asking some girl, "Will you be my best friend?"

So when Carol entered the kitchen, Michonne popped open a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She pushed a glass toward Carol and then took an immediate sip of her own.

But Carol didn't touch her glass.

"Have some," Michonne insisted. "I don't mind sharing my ration this week. That's what friends do, right? They share."

"I'm watching my calories."

Michonne's eyes rose up and down over Carol's torso. She had gained some weight, but hadn't they all? Times were flush. The gardens were flourishing and the mall was a treasure trove. "Don't be ridiculous. You look great! Have some."

Carol's eyes flitted away. "I can't drink this early in the morning."

"It's 5 p.m." Why was Carol refusing her gift? Maybe she knew what Michonne was about to ask and didn't _want_ to be her maid of honor? "It's evening."

"I'm not much of a wine drinker, really."

"You had plenty at Lawrence and Nadia's wedding."

"Really," Carol said, "I need to watch what I eat. I haven't been getting enough exercise. I was in that sling for so many weeks."

"Fine." Michonne drew Carol's glass to herself. "I'll drink it." She took a fluid, two-ounce gulp and set it down.

Carol looked at the glass warily. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Michonne took another sip of the wine, more slowly this time. She looked Carol over again, and, ever so gradually, the truth dawned her. "My God," she said through a half chuckle. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

If Carol had attempted to deny it, her face would have belied her. Michonne laughed. She drew down a water glass and filled it from the faucet it and handed it to Carol. "Congratulations." Michonne lifted one of the wine glasses.

Carol shook her head, picked up her glass of water, and clinked. "But be quiet. I don't want Rick to overhear."

"Why?" Rick asked as he strolled into the kitchen, grabbed his revolver off the kitchen island, and shoved it in his holster. "Daryl already told me."

"What?" Carol asked.

"Uh…" Rick snapped his holster shut. "I'm going to go make my rounds." He hurried from the kitchen.

Carol's wine glass clinked down on the counter. "I can't believe Daryl! He never talks, and now he's blabbing all over town!"

"Was it planned?" Michonne asked.

"No," Carol said. "Definitely not. But it's welcome. Though I'm a little nervous."

"Understandably. How far along?"

"Nine weeks, we think."

So now Carol would be just about as far into her pregnancy as Sasha by the wedding. Maybe Michonne should talk to Rick about putting off the wedding. Why not enjoy a longer engagement and marry beneath a blooming arch of flowers in late spring next year?

"How about you?" Carol asked. "Thinking of joining the baby boom?"

"No," Michonne said. "In fact, since Daryl won't be using them for a while, can Rick have his ration of condoms? We've worked through both of ours."

Carol chuckled.

Michonne smiled, but then her lips stilled into a straight line and trembled ever so slightly. "Every day, I miss Andre a little less. Some days, I don't think of him at all. I just don't want to go through that again."

She had told Carol about Andre eventually, when they were both holed up alone together for an entire night during the War Against the Saviors, laying low in a trench outside the Hilltop and listening to intermittent gun fire from both the Alliance's side and the Saviors. They weren't engaging. They'd agreed to wait for the enemy to spend down their ammunition, and then they would attack. Together, they'd taken out eight men in the early hours of the morning.

"I hear you," Carol said. "I was afraid of that, too. But now I've got Sofie, and Daryl's got Ethan, and...I have to take risks with my heart."

"You're a strong woman, Carol. I've always thought that about you."

"That's because you didn't know me before the prison."

"I bet you've always had a quiet strength, though. You can do this. But me...I think maybe I just want to be the cool auntie to everyone else's kids."

Carol laughed. "You'll make an excellent cool auntie."

"Do you think Chief Daniel will actually bring those horses?" Michonne asked.

"Daryl thinks so. He spent a lot of time with him. He came to respect him."

"Stockholm Syndrome?" Michonne asked.

"I wouldn't call it that. I don't think Daryl was being irrational. I think he drew an informed opinion. And I trust his opinion."

"Well I don't know if Chief Daniel is trustworthy," Michonne said, "but he sure is easy on the eyes. I saw him from the wall once."

"I suppose I might think he was handsome if not for that scar on his face."

"I thought every woman thought scars were sexy. Doesn't Daryl have any scars?"

"Daryl had a dozen scars," Carol replied, "but most are the kind that still need healing."

Michonne sensed that she'd triggered some unpleasant feeling, and so she quickly switched the subject. "So when's the wedding?" she teased.

Carol shook her head. "Daryl's not into that sort of thing. But I know he's committed to me. I don't have any doubt about that. We belong to each other."

Michonne shrugged. "I never married Andre's father. I don't really see the point of marriage, to be honest. But Rick does. What do _you_ want? Do _you_ want to get married?"

"I want Daryl to know I trust him to be there. That I love him _as he is_. That he doesn't have to try to be someone he's not. Not with me."

Michonne swirled her wine on her tongue, savoring the taste, before she swallowed. "Daryl's very lucky to have you."

"And Rick's lucky to have you," Carol said.

"We are pretty fantastic, aren't we?"

Both women laughed and clinked their glasses again.

[*]

Rick rubbed his eye, the way he sometimes did when he was annoyed, and righted Judith's sippy cup on her tray. "Why put it off so long? That's a year. Do you not _want_ to get married?"

Carl was eating a picnic dinner with Vicky tonight by the pond.

"Of course I want to get married. I said yes, didn't I?" Michonne replied. "But does it really matter _when_ we get married? I just want to wait until this baby boom has settled down. And I always wanted a late spring wedding."

"Like hell you did. You never planned your wedding like other girls."

"Well, I want a late spring wedding now. I want wildflowers weaving through the arch. And I don't want our wedding interrupted by someone giving birth."

"It's hot in late May. It was hot today. It's going to be _hot_ , Michonne."

Michonne wiggled an eyebrow. "So's the wedding night."

Rick laughed.

"Hot!" Judith cried.

They both turned to her and smiled. "Her fifth word," Rick said proudly.

[*]

Carol's eyes jolted open because she felt like she was being watched. Daryl was sitting up halfway on the bed and looking down at her. Sun seeped through the blinds, and she could hear birds chirping.

"Mornin'. How ya feelin'? Anymore nausea?"

Carol closed her eyes again. "No. Mostly just tired."

"Yeah?" he asked. His voice got a little softer when he asked it, too. She recognized that drop in tone. That soft "Yeah?" meant - _That means we can have sex right now, right?_

"Oh, Daryl," she said. "I'm just so tired. Can we just cuddle?"

"Cuddle?"

"Hold me," she said, hoping that _holding_ sounded more masculine to him than _cuddling_.

He lay down on his back and patted his chest. She settled her head on it. Then he wrapped both arms loosely around her. She dozed off for a little, maybe ten minutes, and awoke feeling more alert. She shifted so her head was on the pillow and she could see his face, but she kept an arm draped over him. He was lying on his back now, with his hands behind his head, just staring at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, imagining he was worried about the health of the baby or about becoming a father.

"Who do ya think would win in a fist fight?" he asked. "Abraham or Chief Daniel?"

" _That's_ what you're thinking about?"

"'Bout the same height. Abraham's bulkier. But the Chief's faster."

"Well let's hope they never get in a fist fight."

"Hope he brings them horses," Daryl said. "Cement the peace. Mattaponi might could make good allies. In trade and war."

"You worried he won't?" she asked.

"It's just...I took him at his word. Don't want to be wrong 'bout someone again. Won't be able to trust my instincts if I am."

"He'll bring the horses," she reassured him.

He stroked her arm, which rested on his chest, quietly.

"Since we're considering random questions," Carol asked, "Why did you only give Rick and Michonne a 50/50 chance when I asked about them at the reception? You really think Rick would ever leave her?"

"Nah. Rick ain't the issue. Most any woman'll do."

"What do you mean?" Carol was genuinely curious about his opinion. He must have so many he'd never voiced, but he was beginning, little by little, to voice them to her. She might not agree with them, but she was _curious_ about them.

"Say Rick ain't with no one."

"Yeah?"

"And say a woman shows interest in him."

"Yeah?"

"Rick's gonna respond. First it was Lori, then Jessie, and now it's Michonne. Once he's in, he ain't never gonna be the one to step out. Happened to be Michonne who came on to him. Could of been anyone."

She laughed. "Really? So if I had suddenly started kissing Rick one day before Michonne did, I'd be his fiancé now?"

"Don't talk 'bout kissin' Rick. Or anyone but me. And no, he'd of backed off, 'cause he knew I's sweet on you. I just mean Rick needs to be with _someone_. And once he is, he'll be loyal. He's a family man. Man of duty. He ain't romantic."

"Unlike you, huh?" she teased.

"No, I ain't romantic, but...ain't no Lori for me. Ain't no Jesse. Ain't no one in all the world I _ever_ could have done this with 'cept you." He rested a hand lightly on her stomach. "This family thing." He turned his eyes to hers, and there was so much longing and insecurity and hope and fear in that cloudy blue sea.

Carol covered his hand with hers and smiled. "I'm glad you're doing it with me, Daryl."

He nodded to the clock. "Yer gonna miss church."

She tried to remember how many days had passed since they last had sex, and realized with some surprise that it was at least five. "Maybe a little Sabbath sex would be a good way to respect the day."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

She smiled back. "Yeah."

He was still smiling when he rolled on his side and began kissing her. He made love to her tenderly, almost as if he was afraid of breaking her. When she commented on the fact afterward, he said, "Don't want to hurt the baby."

"Don't worry," she assured him with a chuckle. "You won't. But...there is one thing you should be aware of."

"What's that?" he asked.

"That's the last sex you're ever going to get if you tell _one more person_ I'm pregnant."

[*]

"Vicky's pretty and she's nice," Carl told Daryl as they stood watch along the wall the next afternoon, the unforgiving late May sun beating down from the sky. "But she hasn't let me do anything more than kiss her yet! Enid at least let me feel her up a little."

Daryl wasn't sure when, why, or how he'd become Carl's go-to guy for relationship complaints. "Vicky's a sweet girl. She's older'n ya, but yer still her first boyfriend. Ya gotta respect that. Gotta respect _her_."

"Enid broke up with Stone."

"So?"

Carl shrugged. "So, she doesn't have a boyfriend anymore."

Daryl gave him a wary look. "Kid, if brains were leather, ya wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Means a bird in hand."

"And what's _that_ mean?" Carl asked.

"Means don't be a dumb ass and throw away a perfectly good thing to go runnin' after a girl who don't want ya enough to stay with ya!"

Carl paced the length of the platform and then paced back. "Did it ever occur to you that Enid might be my Carol?"

"No," Daryl said.

Carl stepped closer to the edge and peered forward. "Look!"

Daryl followed his pointing finger, shaded his eyes with his hand, and spied the two white feathers emerging form the tree line. They belonged to Black Snake, Chief Daniel's youngest scout. Black Snake was only two or three years older than Carl, but he had a much greater air of maturity. As he emerged from the tree line on a chocolate brown horse, he rode like a man, and he carried himself like one too. Beside him, on his own stallion, rode Chief Daniel, but he wasn't wearing his formal headdress this time. A black Stetson, almost the same shade as his long hair, rested atop his head. Tied to their horses were two more horses with saddles, but no riders. They came to a stop before the gates, their horses snorting and trotting, for a moment, in place.

Chief Daniel shifted in his saddle, raised the rim of his cowboy hat slightly off his forehead, and looked up. "Greetings, Redneck Hunter!" he called.

Carl laughed. "Redneck Hunter?"

"Damnit, man, call me Daryl!"

"What fun is there in that?" Chief Daniel shouted back. "Now are you going to let us in or not?"


	67. Chapter 67

Chief Daniel asked to be taken to Daryl's "chief" once he was inside the gates, and Daryl told him they had a council. "So do we," the Chief replied, "but who's the head of yours?"

"Rick Grimes is the Chairman."

"Ah. Yes. We met. But your gray-haired beauty was the one who seemed to be calling the shots during the negotiations."

"Yeah, well, she would be," Daryl said, a hint of pride in his voice. Carol had been looking out for him.

Carl and Black Snake took the horses to the freshly built stable, while James Miller and Brother Nathaniel assumed watch on the wall and Daryl took Chief Daniel to see Rick. As they approached the house, Michonne was strutting her way down the porch stairs.

Chief Daniel tipped his hat to her.

"This is Michonne," Daryl said. "'Chonne, Chief Daniel."

Chief Daniel held out his hand.

Michonne kept her hands on her hips and gave him the once-over, drawing her vision coolly from the toes of his cowboy boots to his face, where she met his eyes with her characteristic stare of intimidation.

The Chief's lips twitched into a dimpled smile. "Are you going to eat me?"

"You wish." Languidly, she held out her hand.

Chief Daniel took it in his.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you," Michonne told him as they shook, "but I'll reserve my judgment for a while longer." She pulled her hand from his and turned her attention to Daryl. "Should I assemble the Council?"

Within ten minutes they were gathered in Rick's living room. Chief Daniel was introduced to every member, some of whom were more wary of him than others.

"Black Snake is getting your new horses settled in the stable," the Chief told them. "We've brought you both a mare and a stallion, so you can breed them if you wish. They're small, but they'll be adequate for transportation, and they make decent pack animals. We've also brought some hay, saddles, and riding crops. I hope this will go a long way to easing any ill feelings between us."

Abraham glowered at him.

Karen's nostrils flared. "It's only because my son said good things about you that I don't come over there right now and stick this firepoker through your eye." She wrapped her hand around one of the pokers in the stand by the fireplace, but she didn't draw it out. Father Gabriel walked over and gently eased her fingers off of it.

Chief Daniel toyed with the rim of the cowboy hat he now held in his hands. "I understand your anger, and I'm sorry for the anxiety I caused you. If I could go back in time, knowing then what I know now...I would. I did what I felt I had to do in the moment."

"Where did you get the horses?" Glenn asked. "We haven't seen any around here in ages."

"Assateague Island," the Chief replied. "It used to be park land, and it's always had feral horses. It was relatively untouched by the wendigo."

"The what?" Glenn asked.

"It's what they call walkers," Daryl said.

Glenn narrowed his eyes in puzzlement. "Why?"

"In Algonquin folklore," Michonne answered, "the wendigo is a cannibal monster with some human characteristics."

"How do you know that?" Glenn asked.

"I saw some paintings of them in a museum of American Indian art." She looked at Daryl and smirked. "With my _fancy Atlanta crowd._ "

"Are there any other resources on that island?" Rick asked.

"There's an entire settlement of forty-five men, women, and children," Chief Daniel answered. "We call it the Island Settlement. Peaceful people. A fishing community, mostly. We can introduce you to them if you like. They may be willing to trade. They've given us gasoline in exchange for my services capturing, breaking, and training some of the horses. They have stockpiles of it. It was stored by the park service for the boats."

"We have trading partners, too," Rick said. "We'll have to discuss it with them, but...maybe we can bring you into the alliance. Where's your camp? Daryl said you'd moved off your reservation lands near Richmond."

Chief Daniel hesitated to answer.

"You expect us to trust you," Abraham said. "But you won't trust us with the location of your camp?"

"We're in Manassas. We camp on the battlefield. It was relatively clear and easy to secure with pikes and moats."

"Do you camp in teepees?" Glenn asked.

Chief Daniel smiled. "We have longhouses, mainly. Some wigwams. We have thirty-two people."

"That many?" Daryl asked with surprise. "Weren't but nine other men with ya when ya took me."

"We left three warriors to protect the camp. Four of our men are elderly. The rest are women and children."

"You don't have any female warriors?" Michonne asked.

"Some of our women can fight, yes. That's why I felt comfortable allowing so many of my men to leave the camp with me."

The Council interviewed him further. In their explorations, Chief Daniel's scouts had once encountered the same Waynesboro group that had killed Andrew in Cabela's and attempted to raid Alexandria, but they'd chosen avoidance rather than confrontation. The Mattaponi had, however, gone to war with and eliminated a group called The Purifiers, a gang of twelve men who had moved north while raping, murdering, and pillaging everything in their path. The tribe had never happened upon the Saviors, because Chief Daniel's scouts had not made it this far north until after the War. They'd never seen the Kingdom, either. His scouts had, however, had their eyes on the Hilltop Colony, on and off, for almost as long as they'd been watching Alexandria. "But when my ekwēwa got sick _, w_ e chose you. You seemed to have better medical resources."

" _Chose_ us?" Karen asked with bitter sarcasm. "We're honored, I'm sure."

Chief Daniel tilted his head slightly, such that he seemed to bow to her. "Forgive my word choice."

"Didn't the Island Settlement have a doctor?" Karen spat. "Couldn't you have gotten help there?"

"They have an E.M.T., but he refused to see her, for fear she was contagious. That's one reason why I resorted to ransom with you. I didn't think I could rely on the kindness of strangers, when I couldn't even rely on the help of my allies. Not that I blame them. They used to have seventy people, but a year ago, they lost twenty-five to a flu epidemic, many of them children. "

A clattering arose from outside the living room window. The heads of all nine Council members turned to find Ethan, apparently standing on a metal garbage can to reach the window sill, with his nose pressed to the glass. When he spied Chief Daniel, he waved eagerly. Chief Daniel waved back.

Karen paced to the window and pushed it open, causing Ethan to draw his face back. "Go do your studies!" she ordered him.

"Hi, Chief Daniel!" Ethan yelled through the open window. "Can you show me how to ride the horses later?"

"Go!" Karen ordered him, and the boy jumped down off the trash can.

[*]

When the Council was done asking its questions, Rick and Daryl showed the Chief around Alexandria. As they neared the infirmary, the Chief asked, "May I thank your doctor?"

Chief Daniel was shown inside. Sasha was just leaving, a hand over the belly that was beginning to show. Nadia allowed herself to be introduced to the Chief, who thanked her profusely.

"How is your wife?" Nadia asked.

"She was lethargic for another week, but she's completely recovered now." Chief Daniel took off the pack he'd been wearing, unzipped it, and pulled out a bottle of wine. "A thank you gift, from the Winery at Bull Run. The last Meritage."

"Lawrence'll like that," Daryl said, and Nadia chuckled as she took the bottle.

Rick stepped toward the infirmary door and invited Chief Daniel to continue his tour. Daryl trailed along. They continued to walk and talk until they neared the open doors of the stable. Rick slowed to a stop. Inside, Black Snake stood talking to Carl about the required care of the horses. Vicky had found her way there, too, and she was brushing out the mane of the stallion.

Also in the stable were Ethan and Sofie. Sofie was feeding the mare a sugar cube from her one good hand, while Ethan sat barefoot on a bale of hay. He was chewing on one long string of it and looking at the horses. He turned in the direction of the men. "Are you going to take me riding, Chief Daniel?" he asked. "Bet I'd make a real good cattle rustler."

Chief Daniel chuckled. "I bet you would, but your mother might not approve of me spending time with you."

Ethan frowned.

"Does your mama even know you's here?" Daryl asked.

Ethan shrugged.

"I'll teach Vicky and Carl to ride," Black Snake said. "And then they can teach you, Ethan."

"Bet Maggie'll train ya when the baby's a bit older," Daryl told him. He didn't know how long it took a woman to get back in full swing after childbirth. He supposed he should have asked Nadia that. "Damn good rider. Grew up on a farm."

Black Snake turned to the Chief. "I'm getting ready to take Vicky and Carl riding around the inside perimeter. How long do we have? Are we staying the night?"

The Chief looked at Rick. "Would you mind if we set up camp in that field near your pond and left in the morning?"

"You don't need to camp in the field," Rick said. "We'll find rooms for you tonight."

As they continued the walking tour of the community, Chief Daniel said, "I appreciate your hospitality, especially given the circumstances in which we met."

"Well," Rick said, "Daryl has a good opinion of you, and I trust Daryl's instincts."

Rick's words made Daryl feel ashamed for having been too trusting in the past. He looked at his boots on the ground.

"Besides," Rick said, "I think we've all seen enough of evil to know the difference by now." He shook his head. "The Governor. The Wolves. The Saviors. That Waynesboro gang. The - what did you call them, Chief? The Purifiers?"

"It's what they called themselves."

"They's all the same," Daryl muttered.

"Like a hydra," Rick agreed. "Every time you chop off a head, it grows two more. So we just keep fighting and fighting."

The Chief stopped walking just outside the outdoor sanctuary they were passing. He looked over communal tables, the pews, and the stage. "Or you stop chopping off its heads."

"How?" Rick asked. "When its heads are always biting you?"

"You settle," Chief Daniel answered as his eyes drew their slow way up to the top of the wooden cross on the altar. "You build. You breed. You make friends and form alliances. You grow stronger and stronger. And in time, the hydra doesn't dare come anywhere near you. It starves to death, alone, in the wilderness."


	68. Chapter 68

"This is a delicious meal, Mrs. Grimes," Black Snake said before he spooned another scoop of groundhog stew into his mouth.

Michonne didn't correct the young man about her name. Instead, she said, "Well, Daryl caught the groundhogs, and Carol made and froze the stew, and then Rick warmed it up, so I'm probably not the one to thank."

Chief Daniel lifted his water glass. "But we thank you for your hospitality."

Rick had invited them to stay in his house tonight. Chief Daniel was taking the living room couch and Black Snake would spread a sleeping on the floor, and they would return to their camp at sunrise.

"How did you like riding the horses?" Black Snake asked Carl.

"Well, I obviously didn't take to riding as well as Vicky did," Carl admitted.

"She has a natural gift," Black Snake agreed. "A quiet concentration. You're lucky to have a girl like that."

Carl eyed him warily, and Michonne thought that perhaps a rival might be just what Carl needed to see his way past Enid.

Later, when Rick and Michonne settled into bed for the night, Rick said, "So you don't mind being called Mrs. Grimes?"

"Oh. You notice that, too?" She scooted up to him and placed a hand on his hip. "I guess we just look right together."

"Then why wait until next spring to get married? You said you wanted a late spring wedding. Well, it's still late spring." Rick wrapped one of her freadlocks around his finger tip. "You've already got the tuxedos and the dresses. Why don't we just get married this weekend?"

"That' not a lot of time to plan."

"Plan what? You don't exactly have to send out invitations. Carol will help you throw together some flowers, the monks can supply the beer - "

"- I still have to ask someone to be my maid of honor."

"Honey," Rick told her with an indulgent smile, as though amused by her nervousness on the issue. "You're going to have to ask someone sooner or later."

Michonne sighed. "I know. You're right. I will."

Chief Daniel and Black Snake took off the next morning, and Michonne approached Carol about being her maid of honor in the whirlwind wedding to come. To Michonne's relief, Carol accepted enthusiastically, and she wondered why she had ever worried at all. A flurry of planning unraveled, with Carol seizing the reins to make sure Michonne's dress the dresses fit and that the tuxedos were properly hemmed.

[*]

On the morning of the wedding, Stone and Vicky played the wedding march on harp and violin and an arch of late spring flowers adorned the outdoor sanctuary, splashing color on the canvas of a community once darkened by death. Michonne was stunning in her lightly pearled white wedding dress, and Rick rocked back and forth on his heels as she approached. Father Gabriel officiated, with a homily at least long enough that Carl began to tug on his collar where he stood behind his father. But, without event, vows were taken, rings exchanged, and a kiss shared beneath the applause of a community that was clearly settling.

During the reception that followed, Carl cleared his throat before his best man's toast. "Michonne terrified me when I first met her," he admitted to the laughter of the audience, "but it didn't take me long to figure out how awesome she was. It took my father a bit longer."

Rick chuckled behind closed lips and nodded.

"When my dad first told me they were together, I said that was cool. But cool's a pretty lame word for what it really is, which is….I don't know. Sort of like a light in the darkness. Like flowers blooming on a grave. Like the start of a new world, almost. So, Dad…." Carl raised his glass. "Don't screw it up."

Michonne laughed, Rick shook his head, and there were cheers and a clinking of glasses.

The reception was less well stocked with alcohol than Lawrence and Nadia's had been, because the mall stash was dwindling. Daryl wasn't touching the wine at all. Carol teased him, "Afraid of a repeat of last time?"

"Figure I'm more likely to get laid if I stay sober this time. And ya look even better in that dress than the last one."

"You're more likely to get laid if you dance with me."

Daryl hrmpfed.

"I'm not kidding."

"Fine. But I warned ya." He took her hand and they took the floor, where Daryl swayed with her slightly to the slow tune the monks were singing, his hands on her waist.

She settled her head on his shoulder. "You're not so bad, you know," she reassured him, though she didn't force him to the floor a second time. She danced instead with the groom and then with Lawrence.

When Michonne left the reception, it seemed she intentionally tossed the bouquet in Carol's direction, but Carol didn't lunge for it. Instead it fell in Vicky's hands. Enid, who was standing next to Carl, said, "So it must be serious, huh?"

Carl's one good eye widened. "What? It's not like that," he told Enid, looking at his former girlfriend with mixed fondness and regret. Daryl muttered, "dumb ass" beneath his breath, while Vicky looked away from Carl's lips with a frown.

[*]

Daryl was serious about wanting Carol to leave the dress on. When they were alone in their room, his hands roamed her body beneath the silky red fabric as he pressed her back to the wall. He slid off her panties from beneath but undid nothing else. And though he took her less roughly than he had in his imagined, dirty ramblings, it was the hottest sex they'd had in weeks. When they tumbled into bed afterwards, he apologized for his eagerness, asking, "Baby's okay, right?"

"The baby doesn't care," Carol assured him. She stroked his hair, kissed, the top of his head, and wondered if she should have gone for that bouquet after all, if seeing it fall into her hands would have planted a seed in Daryl's mind.

Daryl raised his head, kissed her earlobe, and whispered, "Love ya."

[*]

"Maybe she volunteered so she can slit his throat in his sleep," Stone suggested. "Pass the peas, please." Two candles flickered on the center of the table as the sun set outside of the kitchen window. House #8 had ended up eating dinner late tonight, which meant no artificial light, at least not until Alexandria got that windmill finished.

Eight days had passed since Chief Daniel brought the horses, and this afternoon he and Black Snake had returned with a representative of the Island Settlement to discuss trade. The island representative had brought fifty gallons of gasoline, and the main thing he wanted in return? Tampons. Since Alexandria's supply runners had cleaned out three drugstores by now, they had plenty, and agreed to the exchange. When the Council was discussing where to house their three visitors for the night, Karen volunteered to let Chief Daniel use Ethan's room while the boy slept with her.

"Maybe she wants to keep an eye on him," Nadia suggested, "and she thinks that will be easier to do if he's under her roof."

Lawrence handed Stone the bowl of peas. "You both give her too little credit. Karen's remarkably quick to forgive."

Daryl sipped his sweet tea. "What's in this?" he asked Carol.

"Fresh mint."

"Like it."

"Yeah," Stone said, "but letting them spend the night in her _house_? After he _kidnapped_ her son?"

"Apparently Ethan's a huge fan of Chief Daniel," Carol said.

"Nah. He's just hopin' the Chief finally gives him a good Indian name," Daryl told her.

"Do I sense a little jealousy?" Carol asked as she cut her venison steak.

"What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

She smiled teasingly. "I don't think you like sharing Ethan with another man."

"What? Nah. Ethan should learn whatever he can from whoever he can."

"I'm just glad he didn't bring that wife of his," Carol said. "I'd be happy if I never saw her again."

Daryl grimaced but said nothing.

"Chief Daniel seems a respectable man," Lawrence observed. "I wonder how he would react if he knew of Cassie's history."

" _What_ history?" Sofie asked, excitement tinging her young voice.

"So," Lawrence abruptly changed the subject, "how were your riding lessons?" He looked from Vicky to Stone.

Chief Daniel and Black Snake had spent the bulk of the day teaching Ethan, Enid, Carl, Vicky, and Stone to ride. Maggie would take over the training soon, and had volunteered to start a riding school, open to anyone who wanted to learn.

Vicky signed that the lessons were good and that she had learned a lot.

"I think they would have been more productive," Stone said, "if Vicky hadn't spent half the time smiling at Black Snake to try to make Carl jealous."

"Did it work?" Sofie asked.

Vicky smiled and nodded.

"I think what _worked_ was Enid telling Carl she doesn't want a boyfriend _at all_ ," Stone said. "Apparently she'd rather die an old maid than settle on either one of us."

Vicky made an exaggerated pouting face at him.

"So are you and Carl finally friends now?" Lawrence asked.

"As long as he treats my sister right," Stone said, winking at Vicky, "we _will_ be."

After dinner, Carol asked Daryl to walk with her around Alexandria. The heat in the evenings was not as oppressive as the day, and she liked the glow of the tiki candles on either side of everyone's porch stairs as they dancedin the night while keeping bugs at bay. Daryl walked almost shoulder to shoulder with her, his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. Now that it was summer, he was back to wearing his sleeveless shirts, which meant that his strong, tan arms were bared to her sight, and she couldn't stop admiring them.

"You're not going to hold my hand?" she teased.

He looked almost frightened by the suggestion.

"Never mind," she said with a smile.

He slid his left thumb out of his belt loop and reached his hand over. When she took it, his grip was awkward, and it made her feel a tender sting of affection for him. They walked hand in hand until they neared House # 7, where Chief Daniel was repairing a plank on the porch. Daryl slipped his hand out of Carol's and asked, "Karen put ya to work?"

Chief Daniel got off his knees, left the hammer on the porch, and came and stood at the rail to look down on Carol and Daryl below. "She gave me an entire list. I figure it's the least I can do after putting her through hell. I can't believe there's no man in this house."

Ethan eased out onto the porch through the screen door. "I'm the man of the house!" he said. He took two steps forward and put a hand on each of his little hips. He was wearing Chief Daniel's Stetson. The hat was low on his forehead, nearly burying his eyes. "Hey, Daryl!" he said. "I got me a Cowboy Indian hat!"

Chief Daniel chuckled, plucked the hat from Ethan's head, and put it on his own. "Sorry, but you have to earn that, just like Black Snake had to earn his feathers."

[*]

Three nights later, there was a robbery of ten pints of beer from the brewhouse. Sheriff Grimes was on the case, and he had been making the rounds from house to house, asking questions all day.

After dinner, Lawrence and Daryl slipped out to the back porch, where Daryl smoked a cigarette and Lawrence a cigar. Daryl was careful not to smoke anywhere near Carol these days, even though he absolutely did not believe that bullshit about second hand smoke.

"Whodunit, do you think?" Lawrence asked.

"Probably you," Daryl said with a smirk. "Boozer."

"I think Rick is enjoying this. It's his first case since the mysterious body under the porch. Let's just hope this is the worst crime that occurs in Alexandria from here on out." They smoked in silence for awhile, until Lawrence asked, "Have you picked out a name yet for the baby?"

"Shhh," Daryl hissed. "You ain't even s'posed to know! Don't go blabbin'!"

"You told Rick. And Rick told Michonne. And Michonne told Maggie and Maggie told Glenn. If Glenn knows, _everyone_ will know by the end of the week."

"Well we ain't talkin' 'bout names 'til the third trimester. Don't want to jinx it." Daryl took a long, nervous drag on his cigarette. "Don't wanna lose this baby." He glanced at Lawrence. "So in case J.C. really is listenin', mind shootin' up a prayer for me?"

"You can shoot one up yourself, you know."

"Yeah, but, I figure ya already got a foot in the door."

Before Lawrence could answer, Rick rounded the porch and came into the glow of the tiki torches. He made his way up the stairs and leaned back against the rail.

"Crack the case, Sherlock?" Daryl asked.

"I did. Which is why I'm here." He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It was one of yours," he told Lawrence, "and one of mine."

"What?" Lawrence lowered his cigar to the ashtray on the porch.

"Stone and Carl. They just walked right in the unlocked door, took a partial pony keg, got drunk, and then went skinny dippin' in the town pond. You can still smell the pond scum on Carl's sheets."

A rumbling chuckle worked its way up from somewhere deep inside Daryl's chest.

"It's not funny!" Rick insisted. "My son's a thief!"

"Aww, man, lighten up," Daryl said. "Ain't nothin' but a rite of passage." Daryl had stolen more than a few mason jars full of moonshine with his cousins as a youth, although he'd always avoided the skinny dipping. He didn't want them to see the lashes on his back, and you never knew when one of his cousin's girlfriends might show up. "Ain't like they set anythin' on fire or assaulted no one."

"We can't let this slide," Rick said.

"No indeed," Lawrence agreed. "The Council will have to decide, but I'd suggest fining them two months of beer rations. That's at least double what they stole. Then make them clean out all the stills for the next several weeks. And of course they'll have to grovel in apology before Brother William."

"I guess that's fair," Rick said, sighing and shaking his head. "Sure you're ready for this?" he asked Daryl as he headed down the stairs. "They sure are cute when they're babies, but sooner or later...it's the teenage years."


	69. Chapter 69

"Everyone knows now," Carol grumbled to Daryl the following night. She leaned over and blew out the oil lamp on her night stand. The room was clothed in darkness. The ceiling fan beat down on them. That one use of electricity was allowed at night, because of the extreme heat. They slept naked these days, beneath a thin sheet. Carol had never imagined being so comfortable with a man.

"Didn't tell no one else. I swear." Daryl scooted down under the sheet and spooned up against her.

"Well I'm still irritated. If you hadn't told _Rick_ , the news never would have spread."

"So does this mean I ain't gettin' laid tonight?" he asked.

"Not with that suave line you're not."

He kissed her shoulder. "'S alright," he said. "Won't be long 'fore yer in the second trimester."

"Yeah? And what's that mean?"

"Glenn says yer hormones are gonna go crazy and ya ain't gonna be able to get enough of me."

Carol chuckled. "We'll see about that. Nite, Pookie."

"Nite, Carol."

"When am _I_ going to get a pet name?" she grumbled, though the truth was, she loved it when he said her name. He said it so rarely, that the familiarity of it still sent a little bit of a thrill through her.

"'Nite, darlin'," he said in a low, sexy drawl, right in her ear.

Carol giggled. She put her hand over his, which was resting on her stomach, and snuggled back against him. "I'll take that."

[*]

Rick's stubble was ticklish against Michonne's cheek as he nuzzled her neck and kissed her ear. "Mornin', Mrs. Grimes."

She rolled over and slid her warm flesh against his. "I miss the beard," she admitted.

"I thought you like a smooth cheek for...you know."

"I would, if you _kept_ it smooth. Instead you seem to like that three-day stubble look. Well..." She smiled. "I like it, too. I wish I could have that look and have you smooth at the same time."

"I would give you the impossible if I could, my bride," he told her, and she chuckled, gave him a languid morning kiss, and then rolled away and stretched like a cat.

He reached for her lamely as she slid out of bed. "Come back here," he muttered.

"We need to get going. We slept late, and Chief Daniel will be here to sign the trade alliance papers soon."

[*]

Over the month of June, the corporate lives of the citizens of Alexandria moved forward at a lightening pace. The Mattaponi and the Island Settlement entered an official trade alliance with the Kingdom, Alexandria, and the Hilltop Colony. Chief Daniel served as the trade representative for both the Mattaponi and the Island, and so he, along with Black Snake, visited Alexandria weekly, usually arriving in the early afternoon, meeting with the Council, joining Maggie as "guest instructors" at the new "Equestrian School," staying the night, and departing in the morning.

The construction of Alexandria's windmill was completed and the power restrictions were partially eased. Irrigation was dug, early summer crops were harvested, and late summer crops were planted. The imported fish began to multiply in the community's pond. Alexandria got its very own chicken coop in trade with the Hilltop Colony.

It was the chicken coop that brought Daryl to the town trading post today. The "trading post," which had been Karen's idea, consisted of a manned desk in the pantry. People could go there to trade the rations they didn't need with other Alexandrians, and the "trader" facilitated these exchanges by consulting a ledger containing recorded offers and wishes.

"Carol needs more eggs," Daryl told Glenn, who was the trader on duty this morning.

Glenn opened the book. "What have you got?"

"Condoms."

Paging through the entries, Glenn said, "Looks like the only house willing to trade eggs this week is Monk House."

"Shit. They don't want condoms, do they?"

Glenn smiled and shook his head.

"Who _does_ want 'em?" Daryl asked. He had no need of them now. He'd given one box to Rick and saved the rest for trade.

"Tom Miller, but he doesn't want eggs," Glenn said.

"Tom Miller, Jesus. Course Tom Miller."

"Is he still seeing Cora?" Glenn asked.

"Dunno. Don't care. Is he offerin' anythin' Monk House wants? We can do a three way."

Glenn laughed. "A three-way with the monks and Tom. Hahahaha. That's funny."

Daryl glowered. Glenn stopped laughing and examined the book. The pages crinkled as he flipped through them. "No, Tom's only offering batteries, and they don't need batteries. They want cigarettes though."

"Really?"

Glenn shrugged. "Moderation in all things."

"Got those. What they want for an egg?"

"One pack per egg."

"An entire pack! For one damn egg?" Daryl growled.

"Do you want the eggs for Carol or not?" Glenn asked him. "They're offering two."

"Gonna go squeeze that chicken 'til she pops one out for me."

"I wouldn't advise that," Glenn said. "Though toward the end, that's what I wanted to do with Maggie. She was so uncomfortable. And irritable."

Daryl sighed, rummaged in the left back pocket of his pants, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and slapped it on the desk. Then he went into his right back pocket and pulled out another. He slammed it down. "Fine. Two eggs. Ain't gonna be able to smoke for a week."

"You smoke two packs a _week_?"

"Used to smoke a pack a day."

"Well, consider this an opportunity to cut back, or maybe even quit." Glenn put the cigarettes on a shelf with a post-it note that said Monk House. "You really should, you know, with the baby coming." He made a notation in the book. "You can get the eggs from the pantry fridge on your way out. They left them there."

"I damn well better get laid for this," Daryl muttered.

Glenn laughed. "Those second trimester hormones haven't kicked in yet?"

"I think ya were just makin' that shit up."

"I'm not, I swear. Maggie was as horny as a...a..." Glenn strained for a comparison. "A horny woman. One time," he leaned forward and started whispering, "when I got back from the wall, she - "

Daryl held up a hand. "Don't wanna know."

[*]

Carol was in the kitchen about to open a new jar of applesauce. She was startled by Daryl's voice: "Ya don't need that!" She nearly knocked the jar over. It wobbled on the countertop for a moment before she righted it. Carol turned to face him.

He had a light, self-satisfied smile on his face. "Got ya somethin'." Daryl held out his hands with an egg in each.

Carol's mouth fell open. She took them greedily from his hands and cracked them, one by one, into the muffin mix she was making. "This will be so much better with eggs," she told him. "This kind never works quite right with the applesauce." The batter churned like a yellow whirlpool as she stirred. "But how did you get them?"

"Traded all my smokes."

She stopped stirring. "For me?"

He came a step closer, put a hand on each of her hips, and pulled her back against himself. "My baby's mamma's worth it," he murmured before kissing her neck.

Carol turned and buried her hands in his hair as she kissed his lips fervently. A few flecks of batter were buried in his locks in the process. She hadn't responded to him like this in days. Carol pulled away, breathing hard. "Let me just get this in the oven and set the timer. Then meet me upstairs."

Daryl laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How long's the timer for?" he asked.

"Thirty minutes. Think you can get me to the finish line by then?"

"Mhmhm. Maybe twice."

She laughed, plucked a kitchen towel from the counter, and smacked his ass playfully with it. "Go on," she ordered. "I expect you stripped down by the time I get up there."

[*]

Daryl was surprised by how enthusiastic Carol was in their lovemaking. Afterwards, when they curled up naked together, slick with sweat, no sheet, and the air from the fan tickling their bare skin, he asked, "Was that 'cause of the eggs or the hormones?"

He got no response, so he craned his neck to look at her. She was fast asleep. Daryl glanced at the clock, eased out from under her, and got dressed so he could head downstairs and turn off the oven. She'd be upset if he let those muffins burn. So would he. Their delicious scent wafted up the stairs as he went down.

Stone was in the kitchen, looking through the oven door and practically drooling.

"Step back," Daryl ordered. "Them's Carol's."

"I'm sure she'll share," Stone said. "She always does. And there's like...twenty-four of them." The timer beeped.

Daryl turned off the oven, opened the door, and pulled out the large pan of muffins with a kitchen towel. The towel was unfortunately a bit threadbare, and he singed his fingers. The muffin pan dropped with a clang on top of the stove, and he cursed and sucked his fingertips. They still tasted like Carol.

"We have pot holders you know," Stone said. He claimed one from a drawer and took out the other muffin pan, which he set on another pot holder to cool. He sniffed and sighed. "Good thing you didn't drop those."

"Let me ask ya somethin'."

"Ask away."

"How's Carl treatin' yer sister?"

Stone shrugged. "Vicky knows she's his consolation prize, but she doesn't much care. She's just enjoying having a boyfriend for once. He's not going to get that far with her. Right now, she just wants someone to kiss and go on picnics with. As long as he doesn't pressure her too much…we're cool."

"Hmm."

"Well, I'm headed to the brewhouse," Stone said.

"Still servin' time for yer crime?" Daryl asked.

"Nah. Now I'm just helping because I want to learn. Brother William's going to apprentice me. I think I've found my calling in life."

"Makin' beer?"

"It's an art _and_ a science. It's almost as fun as picking locks."

Daryl left the muffins on the stove and counter and went back to bed, just in case Carol woke up and wanted a second round.


	70. Chapter 70

"Damn," Daryl muttered, "Virginia heat's almost as bad as Georgia." He pulled the rag from his back pocket, which was now pinkish red because Carol had washed it in bleach in the sink, and wiped the sweat from his brow before tucking the rag away again. It was the first Wednesday in July, and temperatures were nearing one hundred.

"I know," Michonne agreed, looking out and over the wall to spy a walker lurching among the vehicles. "It almost feels worse than Atlanta, after that cold winter. Remind me not to volunteer for anymore late afternoon watches." She nodded to the walker. "Want to take care of that? I forgot my silencer."

Daryl leveled his crossbow. An arrow sped out through the air with a gentle woosh and brought the walker to the ground. After his shift, he'd collect his arrows and drag the walkers' bodies to Gethsemane, which was what Lawrence had named the giant ditch they'd dug at the outskirts of Alexandria to roll the carcasses into. They also dumped the town's trash in Gethsemane, and once a week, they would set the whole thing on fire. The flames would lap and burn away within the ditch for several hours before they faded out.

When he lowered his crossbow, Enid and Carl were at the gate. "Going to gather berries," Carl said, rolling the gate open. Michonne climbed down the wall, whispered something to him, and closed the gates after them.

When she was back up on the platform, Daryl said, "Vicky ain't gonna like them spendin' so much time together."

"Vicky broke up with him," Michonne said.

"What now?"

"You're out of the loop, my friend. She and Carl are still friends, though."

"All that kid cares 'bout is gettin' in some girls pants. And since Vicky wouldn't - "

"- That's not true," Michonne interrupted defensively. "You have no idea how much his heart was broken when Enid dumped him. _You_ were the one pushing him on Vicky, Mr. Matchmaker."

"Fine. Mind my own business from now on. Better that way."

Michonne smiled at him. "You're allowed to care about people, Daryl."

[*]

Sofie sowed collard green seeds into the earth. A row over, Carol was on her knees, planting cauliflower. "Are you sure you should be working?" Sofie asked, nodding to Carol's stomach, where she was finally beginning to show.

"I'm not working very hard," Carol replied, pulling herself from the ground. "Though I am going to take a water break. Want to join me?"

They sat in the shade of the porch of the nearest house, on the deacon's bench, sipping from their canteens. "Is the baby going to have my room when it's born?" Sofie asked. "I don't want to move to another house."

"What?" Carol asked, shocked that Sofie would even think such a thing. "Of course you aren't going to move to another house! You're family!"

"I am?"

Carol put an arm around Sofie's shoulder. "This baby is going to be like your little sister or brother. It'll stay in my room for a while, and, when it's bigger, you two can share a room." She squeezed her close. "But you're not going anywhere, you hear me?"

Sofie smiled.

[*]

Daryl ran the palm of his hand over Carol's bare stomach as they lay in bed. "How big is he?"

"Just a little bigger than an avocado, probably."

"He's safe now, right?" Daryl asked, raising his worried eyes to hers. "Since ya made it to the second trimester?"

"The odds are better now. There's no guarantee."

Daryl nodded. He lay his head on the pillow and draped an arm around her waist. They'd just made love with her straddling him in a sitting position, Daryl being hesitant to "put weight on the baby" no matter how much Carol assured him it was okay.

"You know, it could be a _she_ ," Carol told him.

"Mhmhm. Know that. But I got to call him somethin'. Ain't gonna call him _it._ "

"Do you have a preference?" she asked.

"Yeah. Healthy."

[*]

At the last Council meeting in July, Tom Miller announced he wanted to emigrate to the Hilltop Colony. The community was in serious need of a skilled carpenter, having lost theirs to a heart attack. The Council members were stunned by the news. No one had left Alexandria since the War against the Saviors. Why would anyone want to? They had power and running water and strong defenses.

"Are you crazy?" Abraham asked.

"The Hilltop has more fresh livestock and crops," Tom said, "and I think I'd be more... _valued_ there."

" _Valued_ ," Karen scoffed in a whisper to Carol. "He means he's already cycled through every single woman in Alexandria."

"We can't keep you here if you want to go," Rick told him. "But can you at least wait until your Council term is up in early November? We've already had two special elections this term. The Council is going to start appearing unstable."

"And that way you can keep training Carl for a bit," Michonne added.

Tom agreed, promising Carl would be a "capable journeyman carpenter" when he left. It would have to do.

"Hilltop's offerin' Tom the promise of fresh tail," Daryl muttered to Rick later that night when they met on Rick's back porch. "We cain't compete with that."

"No we can't," Rick agreed. "But Tom's stirred up a lot of hard feelings here. Maybe it's for the best. Do you know he came onto Michonne?"

"No, but I ain't surprised. Came onto Carol too." Daryl leaned against the porch rail. "I'd say good riddance, 'cept...he's a damned skilled carpenter."

"And he might not be the last one to leave," Rick said solemnly. "We've been thinking about supplies all this time – where we can get them, how many we can get, what we can store, what we can trade. We have to start thinking about _people_ now. Who we might lose to other colonies. What we might need to do to keep them here. Jonathan's mother, Lydia?"

"'Bout her?"

"She used to work in human resource management. I think I'm going to have a chat with her about how to retain talent."

"Huh," Daryl said. "And I thought she had no useful skills at all."

[*]

Carol set down a bowl of cut, cooked carrots - only enough for a few pieces each, but she was grateful they at least had fresh vegetables these days. Daryl looked skeptically into the bowl. He liked collard greens steeped in animal fat, fried green tomatoes, and fried okra. That was about the extent of his taste for vegetables.

"Ya can have mine," Daryl told Carol. "For the baby."

"How generous of you," Carol teased. "Does the baby get your cookie for dessert too?"

"Baby shouldn't have that much sugar. Rot its teeth."

"The baby doesn't _have_ teeth yet," Sofie told him. "Don't you know anything?"

"Don't be rude, Sofie," Carol told her, though she smiled.

"Shall I say grace?" Lawrence asked when everyone was seated. "Or are we going to wait for Vicky?"

"Black Snake took her riding outside the gates," Stone replied. "But they got a late start. They only left an hour ago. They're usually gone for two. I say let's dig in."

" _Outside_ the gates?"

"Relax, uncle. That guy's a bad ass. She's safe with him."

"What do you mean they're _usually_ gone for two hours?" Lawrence asked. "How long has she been having these private riding lessons outside the gates?"

"I don't know," Stone said, "the past four weeks or so. She only goes when Black Snake's here. Don't worry, she doesn't go outside alone."

"I don't think you comprehend the object of my concern," Lawrence said peevishly.

"Awww...oh...no," said Stone, laughing. "There's nothing like _that_ going on. They can't even talk to each other."

"Well, I don't think Black Snake's much for talking to begin with," Lawrence replied.

"Is Vicky still trying to make Carl jealous?" Sofie asked.

"No," Stone told her. "They broke up weeks ago."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Lawrence asked.

"I guess Vicky didn't know she had to make weekly reports," Stone replied.

"It's like a damn soap opera at this table!" Daryl exclaimed. "Can we eat?"

[*]

Daryl liked night shift on the wall best. He loved the beautiful canopy of stars above his head and the fact that the sweltering August sun had retreated for the day. He loved the stillness, the silence that was punctured only by the sound of the crickets signing love songs or the occasional gnashing walker at the gate.

Rick was his partner this evening, and after he paced back from one end of the wall to the center near Daryl, he said, "You ever notice Michonne checking out Chief Daniel?"

"No. 'Sides, Chief Daniel's married and he ain't the type to come on to some other man's woman."

"I guess it doesn't mean anything," Rick agreed. "It's not like I don't notice a good looking woman when she walks by."

"'S natural."

"Yeah. I mean, I've seen you checking out Michonne's ass."

"What? Ain't true!"

"Back at the prison," Rick said. "You were subtle, I'll give you that, but I saw you do it a few times." He shrugged. "I probably only noticed because _I_ was looking at her ass, too."

Daryl shook his head. "Sound like a jealous moron."

"I'm not jealous, I'm just…I don't know, brother." Rick slung his rifle on his shoulder. "I'm so damn _happy_. Everything's going so damn _well_. Michonne's great with Carl. With Judith, too. And she's fun, beautiful, smart...we're at peace. We have trade routes and trading partners. Crops are growing, fish are breeding, the walkers are under control….And I just feel like….I don't know…"

"Like ya's always waitin' for the other shoe to drop?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too," Daryl admitted. "Hey, ya got a smoke? Been jonesin' somethin' awful." He'd gotten rations again, but once again he'd traded most of them for eggs. He was down to two cigarettes a day, to stretch out his only pack, and it wasn't enough.

Rick shook his head. "I traded all mine."

Daryl sighed. Damn but he wanted a cigarette. It was worth trading them, though, just to see Carol smile every time he surprised her with an egg.

[*]

By the end of August, Carol wasn't just showing, she was _projecting_. She was carrying her baby like a basketball.

"That means it has to be a girl," said Maggie as she rearranged her cards in her hand.

"Yep, definitely a girl," Sasha agreed. She rubbed her own belly. Though farther along than Carol, her bulge was more evenly distributed.

"No," Karen insisted, "all out front like that - that's how you carry a boy."

"Yep," agreed Michonne. "It means Carol's having a boy."

"It means nothing." Nadia slapped her hand on a discarded king of spades on Maggie's kitchen table. "Rummy."

"You're no fun," Carol told her.

A baby's wail drifted to the kitchen. "Don't worry," Maggie told everyone. "Glenn will get him. He's on duty tonight." She sipped water from her wine glass.

Nadia took the card beneath her hand and added it to her set of three kings. "Well, if you really want to know the sex, you can have Daryl try to grab an ultrasound from a hospital on his next run."

Karen picked a card from the draw pile. "Chief Daniel said the hospitals in Arlington, Mananas, and Fairfax were all completely overrun. Those are just the ones his scouts tried, but I doubt it will be much better in any of the other cities. Those places are always infested with walkers. It's not worth the risk."

"Do you often talk to Chief Daniel?" Maggie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm on the Council, and he's the representative of the Mattaponni." Karen played and discarded. "Really, Maggie, what are you suggesting? He's _married_."

"Just because you're on a diet," Michonne insisted, "doesn't mean you can't look at the menu." She smiled. "Especially when it has such succulent pictures."

"I wasn't suggesting anything, Karen," Maggie insisted.

"Of course you're not," Carol agreed. "It's not as if you mentioned the fact that Karen has invited Chief Daniel to spend the night at her house every time he comes to trade." Smiling, Carol looked at Karen over her hand of cards.

"Ethan likes him," Karen said defensively as she picked a card from the draw pile. "And he only gets to see the Chief once every seven to eight days."

"Yeah right," Maggie said. " _Ethan_ likes him. That's why you were hanging out near the stables and watching the Chief riding yesterday. Keeping your eyes on those big, strong thighs clutching - "

Before she could finish her sentence, Glenn appeared in the kitchen doorway, baby Hershey cradled and crying in his arms. "I can't get him to take the bottle," he said.

Maggie sighed, set down her cards, and rose. "I just wanted _one night_ when I didn't have to be a cow."

"I don't think it's _me,"_ Glenn insisted. _"_ It's the _baby_."

Carol rose, came over, and took the baby, along with the cloth on Glenn's shoulder. She held it against her chest and rubbed its back until it let out an impressive belch and spit-up on the cloth. She handed the baby to Maggie, who unceremoniously popped it onto her breast. Glenn looked flustered.

Nadia walked over, took the bottle from Glenn, and examined it. "He's getting too much air from this bottle. Come to the infirmary tomorrow. We'll find a better one."

"See!" Glenn exclaimed. "I told you it wasn't _me_."

[*]

"I can't believe Tom's going to be moving," James said as he cast his line into the stream. He was teaching Daryl how to fish better. "I'm glad, and I'm not. I mean, he's my brother, and I love him...but at the same time, I also hate him. You can't have any idea what that's like."

"Dunno," Daryl replied. "Might have an inklin'." He baited his hook.

"I'm not pissed at him for stealing Cora anymore. She wasn't really right for me anyway. I'm seeing her housemate now."

"Thought ya didn't want Tom's sloppy seconds?" Daryl said.

"Well, I realized that would severely limit my options. And I guess what I really don't want is a woman who'll cheat on me."

"Well, Karen's a good woman."

"Karen?" James asked. "No. I'm seeing Lydia. Jonathan's mother. Nice kid. Brainy. Wish I could get him to go fishing with me, but he's always tinkering with radios."

Daryl couldn't keep track of all these shifting sands of romance. None of it made sense to him. Carol had been the sole object of his mind since Hershel's farm, even before he knew he loved her.

"Alexandria can use a kid like that, though." James reeled in a fish and cast his line again. "Why would you think I was seeing Karen?"

"Dunno," Daryl said.

"Does she _like_ me?"

"Dunno."

"If she does, I wish she'd _told_ me. Do you think she does?"

"Dunno," Daryl repeated.

"Well, it's too late now anyway. I'm with Lydia. And I'm not like Tom. I like to stick with whatever one I've got until she gets tired of me. Besides, that would be a weird web to walk into. I mean, Karen's kid already has two godfathers. Ethan doesn't need me trying to play daddy."

"Two?" Daryl asked.

"You and Chief Daniel."

"Chief Daniel _ain't_ his godfather," Daryl said, his voice tinged with irritation. That was _his_ role.

"Well, every time he's here, he's staying overnight at their house and he's teaching Ethan to ride. And Ethan's always wearing that necklace of teeth the Chief gave him. Creepy shit."

Daryl wondered what James would have thought of his necklace of ears.

"You got one," James said.

"What?"

"A fish."

Daryl hadn't felt the tug, but he reeled anyway. Sure enough, there was a fish on the end.

"When's your baby due?" James asked.

"December sometime," Daryl said as he freed his fish and tossed it in the cooler they'd brought.

"A Christmas present, huh?"

"Mhm. Reckon." Daryl had never gotten Christmas presents growing up, not after Nana Willie Mae had died. This would be his first in over thirty years, and he couldn't think of a better one.

"But what are you going to get Carol for Christmas?" James asked. He slapped Daryl on the shoulder playfully. "A wedding ring, maybe? _Finally?_ Make an honest woman of her _?_ " James winked, laughed, and reeled in a fish, while Daryl stood stunned and blinking.


	71. Chapter 71

The freshly fallen leaves blanketed the floor of the forest in a quilt of orange, yellow, and red as Ethan pulled out his knife and began filed dressing the buck. A cool, mid-October breeze ruffled the boy's reddish brown hair.

"Gonna put these antlers right over yer fireplace, ain'tchya?" Daryl put his hand over Ethan's to guide him closer to the right line for cutting.

The flesh of the deer fell open, and Ethan began pulling out the organs as Daryl had taught him to do. "My mama probably won't let me. She'll think it's tacky."

"Like hell she will. If you'd of got some god awful, fake gold, cheap ass plastic trophy in the old world, for sports or school or whatever, I bet she'd of put it right up on the mantle."

"Yeah, but that's an award trophy."

"So's them antlers, boy."

Ethan stood and wiped his hands clean of blood on the red rag he kept in his back pocket in imitation of Daryl. Meanwhile, Daryl rolled the buck onto a drag sled attached to Merle. That's what the town had ended up naming the stallion, after Daryl had once cursed, "Goddamnit! He's as ornery as Merle!" Merle's mare earned the name of Sugar, because of all the sugar cubes Sofie kept sneaking it. Daryl thought that was fitting, since Merle had called all his girlfriends sugartits.

"I guess maybe she'll let me hang 'em," Ethan said, "since you and me got it together, and you're not gonna have time for me anymore."

"What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

"Well, your baby's due in two months, right?" Ethan shrugged and turned his eyes to the ground. "You just aren't gonna have time for me anymore."

"Hogwash!" Daryl grabbed the boy gently by the back of the neck and pushed him forward playfully. "Ain't never gonna not have time for ya. You's my boy!"

Ethan grinned up at him. "Even if the baby's a boy?"

"If'n the baby's a boy, yer gonna have to help me teach 'em to hunt one day. Well, hell, if it's a girl, too. And when it's little, I'm gonna have to sneak out the house sometimes, just to get a break, play some mancala with ya."

"And eat butterscotch pudding," Ethan said.

"Hell yeah." Daryl licked his lips with a sloppy sloshing sound, and Ethan laughed.

They were still joking and talking when they heard a sudden "Boo!" from behind them.

Ethan dropped Merle's reigns and reached for his crossbow. Daryl whirled around with his drawn.

Chief Daniel raised his hands. "Got me."

Ethan laughed, but Daryl cursed. "Don't be a dumb ass! I might of killed ya!" He lowered his crossbow. He raised it again when there was a crunching of leaves, but it was only Black Snake emerging from the foliage, in a slow slither between the trees.

"Ten pointer," Black Snake said, nodding to the buck on the sled. "Well done. I didn't get my first buck until I was eleven."

"Y'all comin' to trade?" Daryl asked. He looked around them. They didn't seem to have much other than whatever was in their packs. But then Chief Daniel whistled, and the sound of hooves could be heard, thundering through the forest. The Chief's horse, saddled with bags, arrived. Black Snake's followed, coming to a snorting stop before them.

The four began walking back to Alexandria, Ethan leading Merle and walking alongside Black Snake a few feet ahead of Chief Daniel and Daryl.

Daryl nodded to the satchels on Chief Daniel's horse. "Whatcha got?"

"Whiskey," Chief Daniel said, lifting his cowboy hat to scratch his head before settling the Stetson back down again. "My scouts found a distillery."

"What do ya want in return?" Daryl asked.

"Black Snake is a young, strapping lad of nineteen," Chief Daniel said. "And he wants an ekwēwa."

Daryl suddenly stopped walking. "We don't trade women in Alexandria. They's not for sale."

Chief Daniel smiled. "We don't trade women either. What the fuck cen - "

"- tury do you think this is?" Daryl finished his sentence with him.

They both smiled, Daryl with a tiny twitch of the lips, and Chief Daniel with a dimpled grin.

"I only mean Black Snake comes a' courting. We want to stay an extra night this time. We offer the whiskey in gratitude for your people's continued hospitality."

"Courtin' _who_?" Daryl asked.

"Vicky. Apparently they're...involved. He wants to declare his intentions more openly, spend more time with her. He's hoping that he can persuade her to marry him and return with us to Manassas. Does this surprise you?"

"Nah. Not that they's _involved_." Daryl didn't think all those private riding lessons were for nothing. "But that he wants to get married? At nineteen?" Vicky didn't even turn nineteen until next month. "He knock her up?" There was a slight edge of surprise to his question, and a little anger too. Vicky had wanted to take it slowly with Carl. If Black Snake had in any way pressured her...

"No. He assures me they haven't even had sex. But it's a lonely world. Life here is too often short. He likes her. A lot. He's not a boy. And he wants to start a family sooner rather than later."

Daryl shook his head. "My folks was nineteen when they got hitched. Cain't say it worked out real well."

"They divorced?" Chief Daniel asked.

"Nah. They just made each other's lives a livin' hell."

"Black Snake is a moral, responsible young man. I can vouch for his character, if that makes you feel any better."

"Ain't _my_ decision anyhow." Daryl sighed. Rick was right. They had to start worrying about losing people to other communities. "Her uncle might _try_ to have some say...but, If she decides she wants to go with Black Snake, that's her choice. Wall's to keep the walkers out. Ain't to keep people in." He walked silently for a while, thinking how the world was changing, growing, becoming strangely mobile again. Then he asked, "How they even talk to each other?"

"Black Snake's been studying sign language."

They'd walked a good half a mile in silence before it occurred to Daryl to try to be polite. "How's yer wife?" He felt weird asking amiably about the woman who had once accused him of rape.

"She's with child."

"Well, hell. Good work, there, Chief."

With an eerie calm, Chief Daniel said, "It's not mine."

"Oh." Daryl threw quick glances at him as they walked.

"She tried to pass it off as mine at first. What she didn't know was that I had a vasectomy in the First World."

Daryl studied the ground beneath his feet. He'd just stepped on a yellow leaf with a tentacled smattering of red. By now, Ethan and Black Snake were well ahead of them.

"You knew there was something amiss about her," Chief Daniel said. "I could tell by the way you looked at each other when I brought her back to the woods. What _really_ went on between you at that winery?"

Daryl stopped walking. Instinctively, his hand fell to the knife on his belt. "Ya don't think _I'm_ the daddy?"

"What? No. Why would I think that? You two haven't been anywhere near each other for months."

Daryl sighed with relief as his hand fell from his knife.

"Besides, I _know_ who the father is. It's a man from the Island Settlement. Now that I've kicked her to the curb, she's gone to live with him. I'd taken her there one time when I went to break horses." He laughed bitterly. "I didn't want her to stay in Manassas and be lonely without me."

Daryl felt angry on the Chief's behalf. "After all ya done to save her? How did ya not kill 'em both?"

"With much restraint," Chief Daniel admitted. "So what happened in that winery?"

Daryl started walking again. "Accused me of rape 'cause I wouldn't fuck her. I ain't put a hand on her, though. Ever," Daryl swore.

"Well, she was fantastic in the sack, I'll give her that much. Extremely enthusiastic. You really missed out on that."

"Ain't missed out on nothin' but destroyin' my thing with Carol."

"I barely knew her, and yet I imagined that I truly loved her. Much as I imagined I was truly Mattaponi. Perhaps in the first case, I was only thinking with my lower head. And in the second...I was just trying to survive."

"Nah," Daryl said. "Yer Mattaponi _now._ They's yer people. They respect ya. Need ya. Look to ya. Hell, they probably even love ya. And it don't matter that ya ain't never gonna quite fit in. 'Cause it's still where ya _belong_."

"You sound like a man who speaks from experience."

"Maybe 'cause I am," Daryl admitted quietly.

[*]

Black Snake came to House # 8 for dinner that night, where he was looked on warily by both Stone and Lawrence, and where he stole glances and smiles with Vicky. After the meal, he asked to speak to Lawrence privately on the porch.

Carol suggested a walk. Daryl strolled hand in hand with her through town. The hand holding still felt awkward to him - somewhat artificial - but he knew she liked it, so he made himself do it. He loved the feel of her skin on his, but it also felt like he was drawing attention to himself. He'd spent most of his life trying to do the opposite - hiding from his father's rages, or losing himself in his brother's shadow.

"What do you think he's talking to Lawrence about?" Carol asked.

"Probably askin' for Vicky's hand."

"Her hand?"

"In marriage," Daryl said. "Chief says he wants to marry her."

"Well that's a little old fashioned."

"Lawrence is a little old fashioned," Daryl said. "Black Snake too."

Carol shook her head. "That's _young_."

"Mhmhm."

"Good evening, Carol!" came Chief Daniel's voice as they passed House #7. He was sitting on the porch swing next to Karen, and both had a glass with about an ounce of the whiskey he'd brought.

"Evening," Carol called back. "How's your wi - "

"- Shhh!" Daryl cut her off. He took her hand and began to tug her past the house. With the other hand, he waved to the Chief and Karen on the swing. "Y'all have a good night."

When they were past the house, he said, "They got divorced."

"What? After everything he did to save her?" Carol exclaimed.

"Yeah. She cheated on him."

"Surprise, surprise," Carol said sarcastically, and glanced back over her shoulder at the house, shaking her head.

[*]

"He's a snake all right," Stone said at dinner the evening after Black Snake and Chief Daniel returned to Manassas. "Snaked his way right into your heart, didn't he, sis?"

Vicky smiled and shrugged.

Lawrence looked at her warily. "I don't know about that fellow," he said.

Carol caught Daryl's eyes over her plate and smiled lightly. Was this going to be them one day, she wondered, fretting over their own child's boyfriend or girlfriend?

"Why are you so concerned about Black Snake when you weren't concerned about Carl?" Nadia asked him. "Black Snake seems a mature, capable young man. And he came to you, man to man, spoke to you openly about his intentions, which are perfectly honorable."

"I have nothing against Black Snake," Lawrence admitted. "It's just...I never thought Vicky was very serious about Carl. And there was never any risk Carl would take her from Alexandria."

Vicky smiled at her uncle and patted his shoulder sympathetically. She signed that she wasn't planning on moving anytime soon, whatever Black Snake might hope.

"So you didn't accept him?" Lawrence asked.

Vicky signed that she had told Black Snake they were too young and that they hadn't dated long enough.

"Well thank God for some good sense!" Lawrence exclaimed.

Vicky signed that she really liked Black Snake, and she probably _would_ say yes if they were still dating and he asked again in a year. But maybe, she told her uncle, she could persuade Black Snake to move to Alexandria.

"So are you...like...engaged?" Sofie asked.

Vicky shrugged.

"Engaged to be engaged," Stone said. He sighed heavily. "Everyone has someone but me now. I saw Carl kissing Enid the other day. That girl just stomped all over my heart! She ground it right beneath her heel."

"Oh give it a rest, Winston," Lawrence told him. "Don't play the martyr. It does not become you."

"You've just never had your heart broken," Stone insisted.

"As a matter of fact, I _have_. You, however, have _not_. Trust me, you wouldn't be eating a second helping of dinner if you had."

"When did you have your heart broken, darling?" Nadia asked Lawrence.

"Well, at least twice by you, my love."

"I'm sorry," she said with a mischievous smile. "I'll try to make it up to you."

[*]

Daryl flung off the comforter and grasped the handgun he always left on the nightstand. He'd been awoken by some sound of pain, Carol's voice, and there was movement in the bedroom. He clicked off the safety as his eyes adjusted.

"Put the gun away," she said. "I'm just walking off a charley horse."

He sighed with relief, set the gun on the nightstand, and lay back on the pillow. "How many of those ya gonna get?"

"Oh, Pookie, did I disturb your beauty rest? I'm the one who has to _experience_ them."

"Sorry. C'mere. I'll rub it for ya."

Carol sat on the bed with her leg outstretched toward him and her hands behind herself. Sex was becoming a bit trickier these days and required some creative positioning, and she wasn't often in the mood the way she had been during her second trimester. It felt good just to be touching her, his hands moving over the muscles of her shapely legs, and he was getting a little horny. He knew this wasn't going to end anywhere, though, so he willed himself to settle down.

His body didn't listen.

Carol giggled. "Your popping out of the flap of your boxers."

"Sorry."

"Well, it's nice to know you still like me. Even though I look like a buffalo."

"Yer beautiful." He slid his hand up her leg and rested it on her inner thigh. "Feel better?"

"It's gone."

"Any chance...?"

"No."

"Can I least get a kiss?" he asked.

She crawled over and lay down on her side of the bed. He faced her. Her lips were soft and soothing on his, and her tongue teased him. He pulled away, breathing hard. "Think I might go take a shower 'fore bed."

With a light smile, she shook her head and slipped her hand into his boxers. "You don't need to do that."

His eyes brightened. "Changed yer mind?"

"You're a pretty good kisser," she told him as she began to slide her hand slowly over him.

"Oh, sweet Carol..."

[*]

An hour later, Carol awoke with another Charlie horse. She stumbled more quietly about the bedroom this time, lightly enough that she didn't wake Daryl. She looked on her slumbering man and thought of Black Snake wanting to marry Vicky, of the two weddings that had already taken place right here in the center of Alexandria. The knot worked its way slowly out of her leg, but another knot worked its way into her heart – a quiet wish that she and Daryl could be on the same page when it came to marriage. He already _treated_ her like a wife. She just wanted him to _call_ her one - in front of the world.

She sighed and slid back under the covers. In his sleep, Daryl rolled to her and slung a possessive arm across her waist.


	72. Chapter 72

Daryl watched from the wall as James Miller rolled the gate open. The four Miller siblings, carrying Tom's belongings, walked out to one of the pick-up trucks. James would drive Tom to the Hilltop and then bring the pick-up back, as it belonged to Alexandria. Tom's sisters both hugged him. Elections still wouldn't be held for another two and a half weeks, but Tom was eager to leave, and so he was vacating his chair a bit early, despite his former promise to see out the term.

"Asshole can't wait to chase skirt," Daryl grumbled.

He and Rick watched the pick-up truck drive off in a cloud of dust, and the gate rolled shut again. When the women had disappeared toward the town center, Rick peered through the binoculars into the woods from which Enid and Carl were emerging. "I don't know where they go and what they do."

"Give ya three guesses what they do," Daryl said. "And the first two don't count."

"No, they aren't doing _that_ yet. I know. Carl talks to Michonne. Not to _me_ , but to Michonne." Rick sighed. "I wish that girl didn't jerk him around so much. She reminds me of Lori."

Daryl glanced at him warily. It was the first time he'd mentioned Lori since before the War.

"But he'll take it," Rick continued. "Carl loves her, so he'll take it. That's what people in love do, right? They take what they can get."

"Dunno."

"Well, Carol does."

"Hell does that mean?" Daryl barked.

Rick held a hand up slightly, as if he were calming and angry puppy. "Nothing. It's just… she's about to have your baby, and you still haven't put a ring on her finger."

Daryl shifted his crossbow uncomfortably on his shoulder. He and Carol were together. They were about to have a baby. So what if they hadn't put on a stupid show for everyone? Why did people keep mentioning the fact that they weren't married? First James, now Rick. Did the lack of formality make people think he wasn't committed to Carol? Did it make _her_ think that? "Said she don't need it," Daryl fended himself. "She trusts me."

"It's not about trust, bother. And it's not about _need_." Rick shook his head. "It's about _want_."

Somewhere in Alexandria, a door slammed loudly. Rick hastily raised the binoculars.

Daryl spun toward the town, readying his crossbow, though he didn't expect a threat. Last time a door had slammed, a baby was born. His heart leaped into his throat. It was far too soon for his baby.

The tension drained from him when Rick, scanning the houses, said, "Abraham's headed to the infirmary. And, there's Nadia, headed back with him to his house."

[*]

Sasha, after only three hours of labor, gave birth to a 6 pound, 10 ounce baby girl who clawed her way to life and into her father Abraham's heart.

They called her Sarah, certain that she would one day be the mother of nations.

"Two deliveries under my belt now," Nadia told Carol at dinner that night. "I'm practically an expert."

[*]

Rick caught up with Daryl as he was leaving the range after his archery class the next afternoon. "Hey, Chief Daniel's in town. He's waiting on my back porch. Want to talk shop?"

Daryl nodded. When they walked into Rick's house and cut through the living room to the kitchen, there was a sudden rustling on the couch. Enid and Carl flew to opposite ends.

"You got somethin' on yer neck," Daryl told Carl, motioning to his own neck to exhibit. It was only half a second later when he realized it was a hickey.

Enid and Carl both flushed the color of beets.

Rick put a hand on Daryl's shoulder and ushered him to the kitchen. "Jesus, man, don't embarrass the poor kid."

"Didn't mean to."

They headed out the kitchen door and emerged onto the back porch, where Chief Daniel was sitting on the rocking chair brushing the dirt off his cowboy boots, his hat on his knee. Rick sat in the other chair, and Daryl leaned back against the porch rail.

"So what have you got for us?" Rick asked.

"My scouts have discovered a Mormon community of sixty-four people living in the temple in Maryland."

"Sixty-four?" Daryl asked. "Damn!" That was even more people than _they_ had.

"The Mormons were well prepared for the End Times. They've always had excellent support networks and practiced preparedness. When it happened, about five hundred of them moved into the Temple, brining all of their emergency supplies. As they died off…the supplies remained for the survivors. One thing they still have plenty of is canned goods. They want to join the trade alliance."

"You told them about us?" hissed Rick. "Before we vetted them?"

"It's not as if I gave them an addresses. They're peaceful people."

Rick looked at Daryl.

"No reason we shouldn't at least talk," Daryl said. "But we're gonna have a new Council soon. Should probably wait 'til we know who's on 'fore we set up any meetin'."

"We're going to need some kind of intercommunity council," Chief Daniel said. "A confederacy of tribes. And some kind of official procedure for entering it."

"I can tell you right now," Rick insisted, "that Alexandria will never sacrifice its sovereignty to some foreign Council."

"Not to _rule_ anyone," the Chief insisted. "Just to facilitate trade. To plan and provide for the common defense against enemies. A Council of Twelve, say, with two members each from Alexandria, the Mattaponi, the Kingdom, the Hilltop, the Island Settlement, and the Temple. Don't you think, Daryl?"

"Dunno," Daryl said. "Politics ain't exactly my area of expertise."

Michonne strolled through the backyard toward the porch. "Why wasn't I invited to the party?" she asked as she mounted the stairs.

"We're going to call a council meeting later," Rick told her. "Can I talk to you inside for a minute?"

"Sure. Good to see you, Chief," she said as she went inside, and the Chief tipped his hat to her - or tried to - before realizing it was still on his knee.

The screen door whapped shut. Daryl took Rick's vacated chair. "Let me ask ya somethin', Chief. When you was with Cassie - "

"- Thanks for poking that wound."

"Sorry, but, when you was with her, you have a formal weddin'? Or was it just, ya know, _understood_?"

"We had a short but traditional ceremony. And she wanted rings." He held up his hand to reveal the discolored line of skin where the wedding ring once rested. "Swift Feet used to be a jeweler, so he sized and engraved them for us."

"You got a real jeweler in your camp?"

Chief Daniel nodded.

Daryl glanced back at the closed door to the kitchen, leaned closer, and said, "Might need yer help with somethin'."

[*]

Daryl's voice was husky in Carol's ear as they lay side by side in bed, her hand slipped inside his boxers and sliding over him. _Ah, Carol, mhmmhmm. That's a good girl..._ He gently fondled her breasts beneath the open lapels of her green, satin, pajama shirt. _Oh sweet Jesus...that's right...hell yeah...that...do that...damn, woman..._

She knew he was getting close because he stopped talking and kissed her fiercely. A moment later, he ripped his mouth from hers and moaned her name, low and long, as he came, shuddering, into her palm. She loved the sound of her name on his lips, spilling out like a hymn of praise. She never felt more powerful than she did in the moments when he cried her name.

His hand stilled on her breast. He breathed in and out several times, and then murmured, "Thank ya."

Carol chuckled. "So polite."

"Can I do anythin' for ya?"

"Daryl, I feel like a house. I don't feel at all sexy. I just don't need anything right now. Except a washcloth and the water basin."

"On it." He slipped his hand out of her shirt and slipped from the bed.

When they were cleaned up, he asked, "Ya sure you don't want anythin'?"

"Daryl, really -"

"- Not even a back rub?"

She smiled. "Well, sure, I'll take that."

He sat back against the headboard and patted the empty space between his legs. She eased in between them and relaxed into his touch as he began to massage her shoulders.

"Sorry I haven't been much in the mood lately," she told him.

"I get it. And I meant the thanks. 'Preciate ya takin' care of me anyhow."

"Well, I've noticed you're a lot more laid back when you're being semi-regularly taken care of. Maybe that two years of grunting and growling was just because you didn't get enough sexual release."

"Pffft."

He had needed to relax tonight, too, Carol thought, with the election coming up in two days. Voting was on Friday, and Thursday night was the town meeting - which meant every candidate had to give a five minute speech. "You ready to talk in front of everyone?" she asked.

"Hell no." He rubbed silently for a moment and then said, "Chief Daniel's coming up to observe the process."

"He's very curious how different communities organize things," she said.

"Thinks we should have some kind of Confederacy or Union or some shit."

"I know. I've talked to him about it. It might not be a bad idea." Carol closed her eyes as he began to rub his thumbs in slow circles along her spine. "I suppose Black Snake is coming with him to go _a' courting_." Carol had found Chief Daniel's phrase hilarious, but there was a lot of truth to it. For all the horror and struggle of their post-apocalyptic lives, in many ways, they were also returning to an older, simpler time. "Maybe the Council _should_ organize a multi-settlement barn dance like Karen suggested."

"Well, ya can bring up the idea, if'n ya win."

" _If_? You don't think I will? Why? Because I'm pregnant?"

"Got no idea. Ya _deserve_ to be on it. But Lawrence thinks there's gonna be a big turnover after the vote. You could go. I could go. Anyone could go."

A hard kick startled Carol. She reached back to grab hold of Daryl's hand and placed it on her bare stomach between the silky lapels of her open night shirt.

"You feel that?" she asked.

He moved his hand slowly over the taut skin of the bump and then let it come to a rest. "Hell yeah. Kickin' up a storm." He eased out from behind her, scooted down, and kissed her belly, where he whispered, "That's my little Dixon."

"You know, we still have to pick a name." Carol scooted down until her head was on the pillow.

Daryl lay down facing her and draped and arm around her waist. "A'right. Daryl if it's a boy, and what do ya want if it's a girl?"

"Well I don't want Daryl if it's a boy!"

"Why not?" he asked. "Manly name."

She laughed. "It would be a bit confusing, with two Daryl's."

"We could call him Junior. Or Sonny."

"Oh, God no."

"Fine," he asked, "How's 'bout Harley?"

"I'm not naming my son after a motorcycle," Carol insisted.

"Name came 'fore the motorcycle. Had two cousins named Harley."

"Sorry, but no," Carol said. "And how many cousins did you have?"

"Dunno. A bunch. How 'bout Colt?"

"I'm not naming him after a gun either."

"Winchester?"

Carol shook her head.

"Spam."

"Stop it!" She smacked him playfully on the chest.

Daryl chuckled.

"What name do you like for a girl?" she asked.

"A'ight. This one ain't a joke. You don't like it, that's fine, but don't laugh."

"I won't," she promised.

"Willie Mae. That was my nana's name. She was the best person in my life when I's a boy. She died when I was young."

Carol was touched by the hint of nostalgia in his voice, and she couldn't respond right away.

"You don't like it," he said, sounding disappointed. "I know. Ain't no girl ever named Willie Mae no more. How 'bout Rose, then? Since ya like the Cherokee Rose?"

"I like Mae, though," she said softly. "That's a pretty name. I like Rose, too."

"Rosemae?" he asked.

"It's a little old fashioned, but, you know, I like it. I do."

"Well that's settled then," he said. "How 'bout Ruger if'n it's a boy?"

"Now you're just pushing my buttons."

"Remington."

"Be serious now," Carol told him. "If it's a boy, I was thinking Andrew. In honor of Sofie's brother."

Daryl jaw tightened. "The kid we failed to save?"

"Sorry. I didn't know it would make you feel like that. Never mind. I just thought Sofie might like it. It might make her feel more included in the family, remind her she's this baby's sister and not just some outsider. But we'll think of something else."

He ran a finger lightly over her arm. "Nah. If'n ya think it'll make Sofie feel more like family, that's a'right. Andrew's a solid name." His hand rested on her stomach again. "This is really happenin', ain't it?"

Carol rested her hand over his. "Scary, huh?"

"Scariest damn thing I ever done," he agreed. "But I ain't no pussy."

She laughed, and Daryl laughed with her.


	73. Chapter 73

Carol snored softly. She'd started doing that some time into the third trimester. Daryl hoped it stopped after the baby was born. He couldn't sleep. Not because of that, though. He was thinking about the town meeting Thursday night and the speech he was going to give. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his tan Wranglers and a white muscle shirt, and headed to the kitchen.

As he past Sofie's bedroom door downstairs, he heard faint sounds of sobbing. He drew closer and pressed his ear to the door. The sound was definitely coming from inside. He raised his fist to knock and stopped. Maybe he should wake up Carol and have her come down and talk to the girl. What help could _he_ be?

The sobbing grew louder. He struck the door twice, and the crying stopped instantly. "Sofie?" he called quietly through the wood. "Ya a'right in there?"

Her voice seemed unusually young. "No."

Daryl threw open the door. The girl was sitting up in her bed and wiping tears from her eyes. He reached for the box of matches on her nightstand and lit the oil lamp, turning it up just enough to bathe the bed in flickering light. "'S wrong?" he asked.

"Just a dream."

"Want me to get Carol?"

"Don't wake her." Sofie started crying again.

Daryl stood there, not quite knowing what to do. Finally, he sat down on the edge of her bed and asked, "Really bad dream?"

Sofie shook her head and sniffled. "No, a really good one. It was a dream about me and my parents and my big brothers, before the Outbreak." She crawled over and snuggled up against Daryl. At first, he flinched instinctively. Sofie had never touched him before. Then he wrapped an arm around her.

He dug in his back pocket with his free hand and gave her his handkerchief. She wiped up her face and blew her nose. "I miss them. Andrew especially. It was just the two of us for a long time." She folded the handkerchief up on her knee with her one hand. He took it from her and shoved it back in his back pocket again. "Ewww!" Sofie exclaimed. "That has my snot on it."

"Yer snot don't scare me."

Sofie smiled and laughed.

"Thinkin' of namin' the baby Andrew," Daryl told her, "if'n it's a boy. Would ya like that?"

Sofie pulled away to look him in the eyes, and he let his arm fall. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, if'n it's a'right with you."

She nodded. "I think Andrew would have liked that. He was really good with little kids. He was a swim coach for the Tadpoles one summer."

"Didn't know he was a swimmer." Of course, Daryl hadn't known much of anything about him, except that his father was a firearms instructor, the kid was a good shot, and he'd done everything he could to protect his baby sister.

"Yeah. He was really good. You had a brother, didn't you? In the old world?"

"Yeah," Daryl answered quietly. "He died."

"During the Outbreak?"

"Nah," Daryl said, trying to control the quiver in his voice. "Later. He uh...he died helpin' us. And he turned."

"Did you have to kill him?"

Daryl nodded. He bit down on his back teeth, as though that would keep the memory from rising up. It didn't.

"At least I didn't have to kill Dylan or my mom or dad when they turned. Andrew did that." She held up the arm that ended in the stump. "And this. Andy didn't talk for two days after it all happened. But he took care of me." She rubbed a stray tear from under her eye. "Do you miss him?" Sofie asked. "Your brother?"

Daryl nodded. "He weren't as a good a brother as yers, but...uh...ya know, given where he came from...Mere had his moments. And, like you with Andrew - for a long time he was _all_ I had."

"How long?"

Daryl was afraid to speak because the tears were so close to brimming over now. "Years and years," he muttered. He wiped angrily at his eyes.

Sofie scooted closer to him again and rested her head on his shoulder. "But he's not all you've got anymore."

"Nah. Got a whole family now. Huge one, too."

"So do I," she said.

They sat silently while he pulled himself together. "Let's get ya back to bed."

Daryl tucked her in, the way he supposed he would one day do with his son or daughter. He was reaching to turn off the oil lamp when she said, "Ms. Carol always says prayers."

"Uh...I ain't real good at prayin'. Why don't ya?"

"Okay. Now I lay me down to sleep..."

Daryl actually knew that one. His Nana Willie Mae used to say it with him, when he'd fall asleep in her trailer. "I pray the lord my soul to keep," he prayed with her.

"And if I die before I wake," they said together. "I pray the Lord my soul to take." But then he fell silent. That was the whole thing as far as he knew.

"Angels watch me through the night," Sofie continued, "until I wake in morning light."

"Amen," Daryl said. He wanted to bend to kiss her forehead - it seemed the natural thing to do for some reason - but he didn't know if that was weird. So he just said, "G'nite," and slipped from the door.

[*]

Carol separated the freshly plucked strawberries into pints and put them in a Red Flyer wagon. She missed gardening with her little apprentice on school mornings, and she was looking forward to getting back to the firing range with Sofie after the baby was born. Nadia had advised her against the practice in her current "condition" - something to do with led exposure and the sounds and vibrations. Carol could wear ear protection, Nadia had warned her, but her baby couldn't. Sofie had been attending Rick's firearms class in the meantime, but Carol wanted to work with her personally. The girl's grouping had improved a lot, but there was more to be done. It was such a challenge to shoot one handed.

When Carol reached House # 7, the last of her deliveries, Chief Daniel answered and invited her in for coffee. "When did you get here?" she asked.

"Late last night," he replied as he led her to the kitchen. "I hear you're having political speeches tonight and an election tomorrow. I wanted to see how you do it." He went straight for the cupboard when they entered the kitchen, opened it, and drew down two green ceramic mugs.

"You've really made yourself at home here."

"Well, it's probably my eighteenth stay at least." He set the mugs on the counter top with a clink.

"Where is everyone?"

"The kids are at school. Karen's in the shower. Cora's meeting with Rick about human resource management, or, at least, I _think_ that's what she said. And Lydia stayed with James last night." He slid out the coffee pot and poured a full cup. "Maybe that was gossip. Sorry if it was."

"Everyone knows they're seeing each other now. Just a half cup for me, please." She was supposed to be minimizing her caffeine intake.

Chief Daniel stopped pouring and slid the half full cup across the counter to her. "You've got a sweet thing here, you Alexandrians. All this power. The Mormons have some solar panels, and the Island Settlement has lots of propane, but we Mattaponi are mostly a fan of fire." He took his mug and sat at the table. Carol joined him.

"It is nice," Carol agreed. "I suppose Vicky may lure Black Snake here one day."

"I would hate to lose my best scout, but maybe he can still work for me. Maybe he can work for both of our communities. Especially if we were to form some sort of...Union."

"You and your union again," she said. They sipped and talked, mostly about politics and the future of their communities, though Carol did also offer him her condolences. "Sorry to hear about your divorce."

"Are you? Daryl says my ex falsely accused him of rape."

"I wasn't her biggest fan," Carol admitted.

"But you helped Nadia to save her for Daryl's sake."

"Yes."

He nodded, sipped, and sighed. "I was shocked that she cheated on me. Shocked and angry. But when she left...I think what really shocked me was how quickly I got over her."

"Well, it's good you're healing," Carol told him.

"I'm not sure what it says about the true depth of my devotion."

"You seemed pretty devoted to her given everything you did to rescue her."

"When we found her hauled up in that broken down truck, surrounded by wendigo...I was very lonely. And she was pretty, and she made me feel...wanted. I allowed myself to become infatuated. It was a whirlwind romance. Three weeks from meeting to marriage. I suppose it's a good thing Vicky told Black Snake to wait a year to ask again, even if it broke his heart a little."

"I think it's smart of her," Carol said.

"They'll be married in less than seven months, though. I'd put money on it."

"I wouldn't rule out the possibility," Carol replied. "As you say, it can be a lonely world. And things can move very quickly in it."

"It's getting less lonely, though, isn't it? For all of us." He smiled over her shoulder. "Good morning, Ms. Campbell."

Carol turned to see Karen shaking her head. Her thick hair was wet and curled in natural waves that made Carol a bit jealous. "You don't have to call me that when Ethan's not around," Karen replied. "Or even when he is." She went to the coffee pot. "Did you make it stronger this time?" Karen poured herself a cup, picked up one of the strawberries in the pint Carol had left on the counter, and plucked in in her mouth.

"Karen thinks I'm not man enough about my coffee," Chief Daniel said. "You should wash those strawberries before you eat them."

"So delicate, Chief," Karen teased him. She licked her fingers clean of the juices. "But that which does not kill me makes me stronger."

"Well that explains your tolerance for that horrendous country music you were playing this morning."

Karen smirked at him. "I would have thought you liked country music, cowboy."

"More of a blues man myself. How about you, Carol?" the Chief asked.

"I like the old crooners," she said.

The Chief's chair scraped across the tile floor as he stood. "Well, I've got to see a man about a horse."

"Do you mean that literally or figuratively?" Karen asked him.

"Well, I _am_ going to check in on the horses, but then I have to talk with Daryl." He brought his empty coffee cup over to the counter and set it in the sink. "Thank you, as always, for your hospitality."

When he was gone and Karen sat down across from Carol, Carol said, "So I take it you've gotten over your urge to stick a firepoker in his eye?"

"I'd much rather _he_ stick something in _me_ ," Karen said.

Coffee spewed from Carol's mouth and splattered onto the table top. Carol reached for a napkin.

"I'll get it," Karen insisted. "I think that was my fault. Sorry."

When the table was cleaned up, Carol asked, "When did _this_ happen?"

"What happen?" Karen asked. " _Nothing_ has happened."

"I mean, you really like him now? _Like him_ , like him?"

Karen chuckled. "Were we just transported back to fifth grade?"

Carol smiled. "Hey, I loved fifth grade."

"Me too. It was so much easier back then. Do you like me? Check yes or no."

"You know he's not married anymore, right?" Carol said.

"I do. But I also know there's a half dozen women in Alexandria who would be perfectly happy to respond to an advance from him. He's good-looking. He's competent. And when he's not kidnapping people, he can be very charming."

"Now we just have to plan your line of attack."

Karen laughed. "Well, you're good at planning. You'd make an excellent head of the Council, you know, if Rick ever let someone else assume that role."

"Lawrence thinks there's going to be a lot of surprises this election. Who knows if I'll even be _on_ the Council? But I want to be a part of the decision making. There were too many years of my life I let someone else make the decisions for me."

"Then you better start knocking on doors and kissing babies. Because the voting starts in less than twenty-four hours."

"Maybe I will," Carol said. "I didn't think to make flyers like you. I suppose it's too late for that now."

"I'm a detail person," Karen told her. "Someone here has to be, with all these big picture people running around." She blew over the top of her coffee. "Are you and Daryl ever officially getting married?"

"I don't think so," Carol replied quietly. "But we're committed to each other." She ran a finger over the open rim of her coffee cup. "Cassie said something when we were treating her, that the Mattaponi use the same word for woman as for wife." Carol was beginning to think that maybe Daryl didn't see a difference. That as far as he was concerned, she _was_ his wife. She'd like to say vows, exchange rings – she'd _like_ to announce it to the whole community, but Daryl was a very private person. "Daryl doesn't stand on ceremony. And I'm okay with that." _Mostly_.

"It's really sweet, the way you two just _get_ each other." Karen looked into her coffee cup and sighed. "Mark and I were never like that. We fought all the time. I didn't give him the benefit of the doubt. I was so... _petty_. We tried not to fight in front of Ethan, but, if it weren't for the Outbreak, if we hadn't _needed_ each other just to survive, I think we would have been bound for divorce. But in the end, he gave his life for us. And I just wish..." She shook her head. "I wish I'd been a better wife." She stood up, poured the remaining coffee down the train, and violently turned on the faucet to wash it down.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I wish I knew what to say."

"You lost your husband, too," Karen said, turning off the faucet. "Early on. I just never think of that. Did you have a good marriage?"

"No," Carol told her. "He abused me."

Karen looked stunned, as if she couldn't possibly imagine Carol _allowing_ herself to be abused.

"I was a different person back then," Carol said. "I bet you were, too. This world...it's a second chance. For _all_ of us." Carol stood up and brought her cup to the sink. "So if I were you, I'd go find Chief Daniel and see if he needs any help with his bookkeeping."

Karen laughed.


	74. Chapter 74

Daryl and Lawrence walked the line of students, checking their stances. Each was stationed before a separate target at the range, Ethan first, followed by Kendra, Sofie, Jonathan, and then those young, twin boys whose names Daryl was always getting confused. It was impossible for Sofie to use a longbow, and she wasn't able to load a crossbow on her own one-handed, but as archery - like firearms and knives - was a mandatory, weekly class for school, she was at least _shooting_ the crossbow with assistance, learning safety, and, from Lawrence, hearing a great bit about the history of the longbow.

"Check yer stance," Daryl told Jonathan as he walked along the line. The boy re-positioned himself, but it was still wrong. "Look at how Ethan's standin'."

"Teacher's pet," Kendra muttered to Ethan.

The twin boys at the end of the line were shoving each other again. "Quit dickin' 'round!" Daryl barked. The boys instantly stopped pushing and, wide-eyed, faced the targets again.

"Language," Lawrence whispered to Daryl.

"Already warned 'em twice. 'S a safety issue."

"Boys, be safe," Lawrence told them. "Or you'll have to sit out and you'll fail archery."

"So?" one of them asked defiantly.

Daryl rubbed his eyes and bit down on his back teeth to keep from saying what he wanted to say. Sofie and Ethan caught each other's eyes with an _Oh, he's in for it now_ look.

"Tommy, go sit on that bench over there," Lawrence told him.

"Why?" the kid whined.

"Disrespect," Lawrence replied calmly.

"I don't _want_ to go!"

"Want me to make ya?" Daryl asked sternly.

The boy shut his mouth tight, stomped off, plopped down on the bench, crossed his arms over himself, and glowered at Lawrence because he didn't dare glower at Daryl.

When the students' stances were all checked, Daryl and Lawrence stepped off the range.

"Ethan, shoot," Daryl ordered, and the arrow flew from the boy's crossbow straight into the bulls' eye. "Good."

"Kendra, shoot," Lawrence said. The arrow from her longbow soared steadily before landing just slightly outside the bulls' eye. "Excellent. Almost there. Next time you'll be right in the center."

"Sofie, shoot," Daryl ordered. Daryl had loaded the youth crossbow for her, and it wasn't perfectly steady in her hand, but she managed the one arm shot and at least got the arrow _on_ the target, within the outermost circle. "Well done!"

"Yeah, good job, Sof," Ethan leaned over Kendra to tell her. "I couldn't do that with one hand."

"Jonathan, shoot," Lawrence commanded. Jonathan let go the string of his longbow and the arrow landed, as usual, in the ground, about half a foot from the target. Lawrence sighed quietly. "We'll continue to work on your draw. Joey, shoot."

The last boy let go the string of his longbow and hit the backboard of the target with his arrow, just outside the circles.

"My longbow shooters require improvement," Lawrence said. "Look to Kendra as your example."

"Teacher's pet," Ethan muttered to her, and Kendra rolled her eyes.

"Now the longbow is challenging," Lawrence said, pacing the line in the fashion of a lecturer or preacher, "and as we all know, it requires more skill than the crossbow."

"No it don't," Daryl interrupted him.

"It's greater effectiveness and easier maintenance make it the ideal weapon for - "

"- The crossbow," Daryl interrupted, "is the best damn thing for - "

"- Could you two not waste so much time always arguing over which is better," Kendra pleaded, "and just _teach_ us?"

Ethan looked at Kendra. "Yeah, especially since we _all_ know the crossbow is better."

"Longbow," Kendra shot back.

"Lawrence and Daryl should have a competition," came Chief Daniel's deep voice from behind them. The students turned. "Settle this once and for all."

"Why don't you get in on it, too, Chief?" Ethan asked him.

"Several of my men are very good with bows, but I'm really more of a rifle man myself."

Lawrence looked at Daryl with a raised eyebrow. "Shall we?"

"If'n it'll shut ya up?" Daryl asked, pretending not to be as excited by the idea of a competition as he actually was. "Let's do it."

The two men lined up before separate targets while the class stepped back to watch. "This has been a long time coming, hasn't it?" Lawrence asked him.

"With all the trash ya been talkin' since I met ya? I'd say."

Chief Daniel played referee. "You have 90 seconds," he told them. "Shoot as many arrows as accurately as you can. Now on your marks, get set..." All of the students shouted "Go!" with him.

The arrows flew, with a woosh through the air and a light thunk in targets, the noise largely drowned by the murmurs from the spectators.

"Time!" Chief Daniel announced.

Lawrence's hand froze as he was reaching for a fresh arrow from his quiver. Daryl took his finger off the trigger of his crossbow, a millisecond before he was about to fire.

Chief Daniel walked downrange to examine the targets. "Lawrence got twice as many arrows on the target," he said. "But Daryl was twice as accurate."

"So I win," Daryl said.

"No," Lawrence insisted, " _I_ win. They're all on the target, just not the bullseye. Every one of those arrows would slow an invading army."

"Wouldn't kill a walker though. Got to get the brain." Daryl pointed to his head. "Don't ya know that?"

"Of course I know that. But you know we have more than walkers to worry about in this world. Walkers are nothing compared to human enemies. And when time is of the essence, getting an arrow in twenty men's stomachs is better than getting an arrow in ten men's brains."

"Well, good thing Alexandria has you both, then," Kendra said. She looked at her watch. "We're overtime."

"That's right," came their approaching teacher's voice. Mrs. Hamilton, one of the original inhabitants of Alexandria, was the primary school teacher, though several other Alexandrians taught weekly classes or came to the school house for special seminars. "It's time to get back to the school room."

"Awwww!" Ethan groaned.

"Science is next," Jonathan said. "We're doing a chemistry lab. It's going to be fun."

"The only _fun_ classes are archery and firearms," Ethan insisted.

"Life can't be all about fun all the time," Kendra told him.

"I see Nadia's been training her well," Lawrence whispered to Daryl, who chuckled.

The kids lay down their bows and arrows on the tables and followed their teacher back to the schoolhouse. Lawrence and the Chief helped Daryl to clean up the range and store away the bows and arrows in the locked cabinets under the range tables.

"Well, I'm off to work on my book," Lawrence told them. "I'm writing about the Island Settlement now."

"He's serious about that history," Chief Daniel said as Lawrence disappeared through town.

"Ain't sure what the point of it is," Daryl replied. "We ain't history yet. And when we are, ain't nobody gonna care who we were."

"Karen's editing his chapters. She says he's a great writer, but he keeps scrapping and re-writing the whole thing."

Daryl leaned back against one of the range tables. "Got that thing I asked for?"

"That's why I'm here."

[*]

"So I hope I have your vote tomorrow?" Carol asked. She was standing in front of the open door of the Millers' house, where Mary Miller and James stood in the doorway. Glenn still wasn't running for the Council this term. Neither was Lawrence, busy as he was with his silly history book, but Carol knew she had a lot of other competition.

"That all sounds very impressive," James said, and then glanced down at her protruding belly. "Aren't you going to go into labor in a few weeks?"

"No one suggested Glenn or Abraham should step down because they had babies," Carol said.

"That _is_ pretty sexist, James," Mary told him. "Do you have a little bit of gynophobia going on there?"

"Please don't psychoanalyze me."

Mary laughed. "I was _joking_."

"And, actually, Glenn _did_ step down," James reminded her. "He thinks the baby is too much work, and so he's not running for re-election."

"That's just an excuse," Mary told him. "He just doesn't want to go to all those meetings anymore. Are you sure _you_ do?"

"I've got good ideas," James said. "About establishing a _real_ fish farm."

"I didn't realize you were running," Carol said.

"Obviously your campaign lacks stamina," Mary told him. She put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "I'll be voting for both of you. And I bet James will be voting for you, Carol."

Each citizen could vote for their five top picks for Council. The votes would be tallied, and the nine top vote earners would form the Council. A tie for the 9th slot would necessitate a run off. Those running could also vote, and they could even vote for themselves, though Carol felt weird doing that. She was planning to vote for Daryl, Karen, Rick, Michonne, and Nadia, who had thrown her hat into the ring last week. Carol was glad for that, as she thought the Council needed more female representation. Six men to three women hardly seemed right to her. The days of the women doing laundry in the lake and the men running things was over, or at least it ought to be.

"I haven't decided who I'm voting for yet," James said. "I'm waiting until after the speeches. So make yours a good one." He smiled. "Do you think Daryl can pull off five minutes?"

"I'm not sure he's ever spoken five minutes straight in his life," Carol replied. "But he's always been useful on the Council."

"Well, James _sure_ knows how to speak for five minutes straight," Mary said.

Carol tried not to laugh, but she did. Daryl had more than once complained to her about James's incessant talking during their fishing sessions together. She covered her mouth. "Sorry," she muttered between her fingers. She lowered her hand and waved goodbye to them. "Y'all have a nice day."

Carol made her way to the next house to continue her campaigning.

[*]

Daryl closed up the range shed. Then he walked over to where Chief Daniel was now greeting Karen. "Ya want me to set up firearm targets?" Daryl asked her. He couldn't imagine what else she would be doing on the range, though he was surprised to see her here. Karen was competent enough with a gun, and would kill if she had to, but she wasn't a warrior. She attended Rick's weekly firearms class, but otherwise didn't spend much time with weapons.

"No," she said. "Chief, I just wanted to see if you were available to review the trade books. I just want to make sure the Alexandrian and Mattaponi accounts are reconciled."

"There a problem?" Daryl asked. He couldn't believe the Mattaponi would have shorted them on any trade.

"No, no," Karen said. "Just making sure everything is orderly."

"I'd love to," Chief Daniel said. "I know you have to dot those i's and cross those t's."

"I'm sure it sounds boring to you," Karen said.

"Not at all. I brought a bottle of wine from the Winery at Bull Run. Maybe we should split it and have lunch while we work through the details." He smiled and began walking beside her.

Daryl thought the Chief seemed strangely excited about crunching numbers.


	75. Chapter 75

"You Alexandrians throw quite the Pow Wow," Chief Daniel told Daryl as they stood on the outer edge of the outdoor sanctuary while the town feasted on wild boar and other foods that had been brought to the community potluck. Stone was tearing up a tune on the fiddle, while Lawrence played guitar and one of the monks played flute. There were a few couples who had ventured to dance with each other on the stage, including Michonne and Rick, Glenn and Maggie - baby Hershel was being watched over by an attentive and cooing group of three women - and Black Snake and Vicky. The children of House # 7 - Ethan, Sofie, Kendra, and Jonathan - were dancing in a completely out-of-rhythm group gaggle. Enid was apparently too cool to join in, because Daryl could see Carl urging her to the stage only to get a head shake.

"I'm looking forward to the speeches," Chief Daniel said. "Are you nervous?"

"Ya have no idea," Daryl muttered. He nodded to the cup of whiskey from which the Chief was sipping. "Thought you Indians couldn't handle yer liquor."

"Ah, well, good thing I hardly have any Indian blood, then."

"Been wonderin' whatcha was. But Carol told me it'd be rude to ask." Daryl looked around until he spied Carol standing at a safe distance among the pews. She was making the rounds, like a seasoned politician, chatting up the voters. "Since she ain't here right now, though...what are ya?"

The Chief laughed. "It might be easier to ask what I'm _not_. I'm a complete mongrel. Black, white, Mexican, Filipino...I do actually have a bit of Cherokee, though. One thirty-second. No Mattaponi, though my brother married into the tribe. You on the other hand - I'm guessing one hundred percent Scotch-Irish?"

"No idea," Daryl said.

"You know, the word redneck originates in Scotland. It was used to describe the lowland Presbyterians who rejected the church of England. They wore red cloth around their necks as an insignia. A lot of them migrated to the deep South, and brought their lowland culture with them."

"Ya sound like Lawrence."

"Well, Lawrence was the one who told me all this, the last time he was interviewing me for his history book."

The music stopped and Lawrence put down his guitar and came to the battery operated microphone at the center. The dancers scattered from the stage and took their seats among the pews. "Good evening, Alexandria," Lawrence said, his voice carrying solidly across the pews. "I've been appointed by the current Council to play M.C. this evening. We're going to hear from all thirteen of our candidates for Council. You each have the floor for five minutes. I know some people can occasionally run on at the mouth - "

"- I wonder who," Brother Nathaniel shouted, and the crowd laughed.

"Well, I'm not running for the Council, so you'll be spared my lengthy wit tonight. But if the speakers would please be careful not to exceed five minutes, I'm sure that would be appreciated, or we'll be here all night. First up we have our town's water engineer, Damien Hamilton. Damien." Lawrence gestured to the stage and the man came up to speak.

Daryl looked for Carol among the pews while Damien spoke, and found her sitting next to Michonne. Karen took the stage next.

Chief Daniel leaned close to Daryl and, in a whisper, said, "Karen's very articulate."

"Mhmhm."

"Excellent mother, too."

"Yep," Daryl agreed.

"Sharp mind."

"Mhmh."

"Great organizational skills."

"Uh-huh."

"Lovely figure."

"Y - " Daryl stopped himself. He'd been on autopilot with his agreements.

Chief Daniel chuckled.

 _Karen?_ The idea hadn't even occurred to Daryl. Sure, the Chief had been staying at her house, but Daryl assumed that was because of _Ethan_ , not Karen. "Thought ya wanted to observe the political process, not the scenery."

"Maybe I want to observe both," Chief Daniel said.

"Mmhm. And maybe Black Snake ain't the only one who comes a' courtin'?"

Chief Daniel shrugged.

"Karen?" Daryl asked. "Ya kidnapped her son, Chief. She once told ya she wanted to gouge yer eye out."

"Minor hurdles. I'm growing on her, I can tell. I think she might have been seriously flirting with me over the trade books today."

Daryl shook his head. "If ya say so."

The town's power engineer, Jake Wellington, gave his speech next, followed by Brother Nathaniel, Brother Timothy, James Miller, and then Michonne. When Carol took the stage, Daryl listened more intently. Her speech succinctly outlined the many things she'd like to see Alexandria accomplish in the coming months. He half listened to the speeches of Father Gabriel, Nadia, Rick, and the very harried and tired looking new father, Abraham. Tara Chambler was running this time, and she had some ideas for a second, outer perimeter fence that would provide a safety buffer and more room for cropland.

Daryl had the very last speech of the evening. When it was his turn to take the stage, he climbed the three stairs leading up, walked to the microphone, and leaned in to speak. "'Sposed -" There was a loud squeal of feedback, so, flushing red, he took a step backwards and tried again. "'Sposed to say why y'all should vote for me. Been on the Council before. Know how it works, and I get shit done. That's all I have to say 'bout that. Wanna use the rest of my five minutes for somethin' else. Carol, can ya come up here a sec?"

[*]

Carol was extremely puzzled by Daryl's request, but she made her way up the stairs, walking slowly because of the weight of the baby. She noticed that Lawrence mounted the steps behind her, which deepened her confusion.

When she reached Daryl, he turned to face her with a closed fist. He uncurled it, palm up. Two gold wedding bands rested inside.

Carol covered her mouth to hide her gasp. While she was still reeling from the surprise, Lawrence came to stand behind but somewhat between them.

"Want ya to be my wife," Daryl said, and the town, which had been a sea of murmurs before, went suddenly silent. "Be honored if ya'd agree. Just don't want a long, fancy weddin' with fancy clothes and a fancy reception. That ain't me. Ya _know_ that ain't me. And I 'preciate that you know that ain't me. But I _do_ want ya to be my wife." He jerked his head toward the community that was sitting in the pews and milling about the edges of the outdoor sanctuary. "Everyone's already here. We got witnesses." Then he jerked his head toward Lawrence. "And an ex-monk to officiate. Think that makes it legal."

Carol looked dumbfounded at the rings. His hand was trembling slightly, and the rings knocked against each other. Daryl swallowed. "So ya wanna get hitched right now or not? Still got the stage for three and a half minutes."

Carol, laughing with affection and surprise and amusement at the complete _Daryl-ness_ of it all, nodded. The tension drained from Daryl's muscles, and he handed Lawrence the rings before extending his hands palms up. Carol placed hers palms down on top of his, pressing her soft flesh against his rough calluses.

Lawrence began. "Do you, Daryl, take this woman, Carol, for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to death do you part?"

Daryl tilted his head ever so slightly in a small nod. He held Carol's eyes with his, which flickered a brighter blue in the flames of the bonfire that burned in the pit behind the stage. "Mhmhm," he murmured. "I do."

"And do you, Carol, take this man, for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, to death do you part?"

"I do," she answered firmly.

Lawrence handed Daryl one of the rings. He must have told Daryl what to do and say already, because he seemed to know. Carol outstretched her hand, and Daryl slid the gold band shakily onto her ring finger, saying, "Carol, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity."

Lawrence handed Carol the other ring, whispering, "Same thing."

The ring fit surprisingly well on Daryl's finger as she pushed it down. "Daryl, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity."

"You have declared your consent," Lawrence told them, and then he prayed: "May almighty God unite your hearts in the never ending bond of pure love. May your children bring you happiness, and may your generous love for them be returned to you, many times over. May you have true friends to stand by you, both in joy and in sorrow. May the Lord bless you with many happy years together. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

"Amen!" the Alexandrians shouted.

Lawrence grinned. "You may kiss your bride."

Daryl leaned forward and pressed his warm lips to Carol's. He slipped his tongue inside for just a moment, tasting of the cherry cobbler she'd brought to the communal meal for dessert. When he pulled his mouth away, the heat still lingered.

[*]

If Daryl had hoped his speed wedding would mean he could avoid too much attention, he was wrong. He and Carol were swamped with congratulations when they stepped down from the stage. Eventually, they snuck their way through the crowd and back to their bedroom, where they made love, tenderly but a little awkwardly, given Carol's pregnant condition.

Afterwards, Carol lay on her back - the only semi-comfortable sleeping position these days, with her head on his shoulder. "How long ago did you get the rings?" she asked.

"Took a bunch the first time we was in the mall, case anyone should need 'em. But last time Chief Daniel was here, I gave him two and asked him to get Swift Feet to engrave 'em and size 'em for me. Used to be a jeweler."

"How did you know my size?"

"Stole that ring ya only wore for a day."

"What made you change your mind?" she asked. "About getting married?"

"Dunno. Just...wanted you to understand I _mean_ it. That I ain't never goin' anywhere."

"I already understood that, Daryl."

"Guess maybe I wanted _everyone_ to understand it. 'Cause...like I told Merle once...ya cain't do things without people anymore." He put a hand over her stomach. "This is bigger 'n us. And what we got together...'spose it deserves announcin'. Sorry I couldn't handle a big long show. I know it wasn't the weddin' ya dreamed of."

"It was a beautiful surprise," Carol said. "You've never been a man of many words, and it's _you_ I love. It was perfect." She slid the ring off her finger to look at the engraving. In an elegant script, it said, simply, _Daryl's._ She laughed. "Yours damn well better say _Carol's._ "

"Mhmhm. It does."

She slid the ring back on her finger and slid her head off his shoulder and onto the softer - but cooler - pillow and yawned.

"G'nite, Mrs. Dixon."

"Who says I'm taking your name? Maybe I want to keep my maiden name."

"What is yer maiden name anyhow?"

She'd never told anyone that. She'd gone from being Mrs. Ed Peletier to being Carol Peletier to being just Carol or, to the kids, _Ms._ Carol. "It's Jones."

"That's borin'."

"Yeah," she agreed with a second yawn. "Guess I better just take your name." She laced her arm through Daryl's. The sounds of laughter and music drifted from the town center, the sounds of life and hope and community rocking her to sleep.


	76. Chapter 76

When Daryl sat down at the breakfast table the next morning, Sofie gave him a one-armed hug from behind. "Congratulations," she said. "It's about time."

Carol set a bowl of sliced apples in the center next to the toast. "I think Daryl just did that to get out of having to give a speech."

Sofie laughed and hugged her, too, before they both sat down. "Did everyone know it was coming but me?" Carol asked.

"Certainly not me," Nadia replied. "I spilled my punch."

"I think Chief Daniel and I were the only ones who knew," Lawrence said.

"I sort of guessed when Daryl asked you to come up on stage," Sofie said. "But I thought he was just going to propose, and that there'd be a wedding later, and I'd get to be the flower girl."

"That's all right, Sof," Stone told her. "You can be flower girl at my wedding when I get married."

"I think that'll look a little odd. I'll probably be forty by then."

Stone chuckled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Lawrence bowed his head. "Good food, good meat, good God, let's eat. Amen." He reached for a piece of toast. "Where's Vicky?"

"Out for a morning horse ride with her _beau_ ," Stone said. "Apparently he and the Chief are planning to stay yet another night."

Lawrence slathered his toast with the plum jelly Carol had jarred. "Well, they want to know the results of the election, I suppose."

"Yes, I'm sure that's why they're staying," Stone replied with a shake of his head. "Black Snake's just dying to know who's going to be on our Council. In fact, that's probably what he's talking to Vicky about right now. Alone. In the forest."

Lawrence sighed. "Don't force me to think about that."

"She'll talk him into moving here," Stone assured him. "Who's going to choose a wigwam over this McMansion?"

"I might," Daryl said. "If'n I had a choice."

Carol chuckled.

"Frankly, and this may sound sexist," Stone said, "but this is a dangerous world, and I'm glad Vicky's found someone who wants to protect her. The fact that she's attracted to him and respects him is icing on the cake."

"That _does_ sound sexist," Nadia told him.

"Well, he warned you it might," Lawrence said. "So you're certain they'll end up married?"

"I'd marry him if I were a girl," Stone said. "Handsome, strong, capable, mature. He brings her flowers. And, really, look at the pond. Not a lot of fish in it."

"Well, there are several ponds," Nadia said. "Vicky just hasn't seen them all yet. But I do like Black Snake."

Carol was reaching for the jelly when she felt like she lost control of her bladder. She flushed red, until she realized the water was still coming. She pushed back her chair. "Oh God."

"'S wrong?" Daryl asked.

Nadia stood up abruptly. "Her water just broke."

"'S that mean?" Daryl asked.

"It means it's show time," Lawrence told him calmly. "Regardless of what the schedule said."

[*]

Daryl paced the bedroom carpet as Nadia prepared the bed. Carol was standing bent over the dresser, groaning. "It's too early, ain't it?" he asked. "Ain't it?"

"Four or five weeks. That's not necessarily a problem," Nadia said.

"Necessarily?" Daryl asked, his voice rising.

"Help me get this bed pad on," Nadia ordered. Daryl did, and then Nadia went to wash up while he settled Carol into bed.

As Nadia was returning, Carol let out another long cry. Daryl had never heard her make a noise like that. It sounded like she was being eaten alive by a walker. He winced and lodged his hand in his hair. "Is that normal?"

"It's been less than three minutes since the last contraction," Nadia said. "She's in active labor, the contractions are strong, and she doesn't have an epidural. It's going to hurt."

"I forgot how much!" Carol screamed.

Daryl took a wary step back from the bed. "Is she a'right? Is that normal?"

"Go downstairs and get her some ice," Nadia commanded him.

[*]

Andrew Aaron Dixon came screaming into the world at 12:42 P.M. on a cold but sunny November afternoon. Daryl's first words after cutting the cord were, "He's too small."

"He's fine," Nadia assured him. "He's only five pounds, eight ounces, but that's okay. He came early. He'll grow. He got an eight on the apgar."

"The what gar?"

"He's healthy." Nadia took the baby and lay him in Carol's arms. Thankfully, no C-section had been necessary, though Nadia had needed to stitch up a small tear.

Daryl sat next to Carol on the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her brow was slick with sweat, and she looked tired but relieved. He was just glad all the screaming was over.

They both looked down at the life they had made together.

Daryl trailed a single fingertip down his son's cheek. "He's so damn soft." He bent a little closer. "Why ain't he openin' his eyes? What color are they?" He'd been so worried about the size of the baby earlier, he hadn't noticed.

"He's sleeping," Carol told him. "And his eye color won't settle for a few months anyway."

"They'll very likely end up staying blue," Nadia told them. "But they might turn out to be green."

"What's wrong with his head?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed. "That's normal, Daryl. That's just how newborns look."

Daryl stroked the baby's thin, soft, blonde hair. Andrew stirred and began rooting for Carol's breast.

"I'm going to wash up," Nadia said. "I'll check in on you and the baby in an hour. Go ahead and feed him and then get some rest."

Daryl watched Carol feed their newborn son and felt some strange new emotion overwhelm him, something he couldn't even describe. "I feel like a goddamn girl," he said, his eyes just the slightest bit damp, and Carol laughed. She drew her gaze from her newborn child and turned her head slightly to kiss Daryl. "I love ya," he whispered, and pressed his forehead to hers. "Thank ya for my boy."

[*]

Carol insisted that Daryl leave her side to attend the town meeting that afternoon, where the winners of the election were to be announced. There were a lot of people clapping him on his back and telling him congratulations.

"Guess you put a ring on it just in the nick of time, huh?" James said with a wink.

Brother Nathaniel asked, "How much does the little tyke weigh?"

The questions were coming too fast for Daryl to answer. Glenn told him, "Glad to have the company."

Abraham said, "Maybe we should start arranging the marriage between Andrew and Sarah."

"What, Hershey's not good enough for your daughter?" Glenn asked.

Abraham shrugged. "I'm willing to take bids on the dowry."

There was another clap on Daryl's shoulder as Chief Daniel's strong hand came down. "Who knew a ring could induce labor? Congratulations."

More people crowded around him. Daryl felt like one of those lottery winners he used to watch with envy on T.V. There was a swelling of pride in his chest, tangled and turning in a tumbleweed of fear and excitement. His nerves were still buzzing when Lawrence finally took the stage and people began to leave him alone.

"There were no ties for the ninth slot and therefore no need for run-offs," Lawrence announced at the microphone. "I will read the results of the ballot committee in no particular order." The ballot committee consisted of Maggie, Brother William, and Cora Robinson. They had been assigned because each had no spouse or sibling running for election. All three members had to tally the ballots separately and then compare their accounts.

Michonne and Rick stood beside Daryl as the results were read.

"The new Council consists of the following members," Lawrence read, "again in no particular order. Michonne."

"Woo-hoo!" Michonne said quietly, and Rick smiled proudly. He slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Karen Campbell."

Daryl was glad Karen had been re-elected. As annoying as her obsession with order sometimes was, it _had_ made things run more smoothly and efficiently in Alexandria.

"Carol...Dixon?" Lawrence asked as he looked from the stage to Daryl.

Daryl nodded.

"Carol Dixon," Lawrence repeated.

"Should go tell her." Daryl was taking a step away when Michonne grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

"Don't you want to hear if _you_ were re-elected first?" Michonne asked.

The truth was, Daryl didn't much care. He'd been nominated to run, so he had. If the people wanted him, he would serve. If they didn't, he had plenty of hunting to do and supply runs to make. Not to mention a new baby at home. But he stayed.

Lawrence smiled when he read the next name. "Nadia Wellington."

"Good, another woman," Michonne said.

"Tara Chambler."

"Five women!" Michonne exclaimed. "I bet you didn't expect _both_ Glenn _and_ Tom's slots to be filled by women."

"No, I did not," Rick agreed. "But I'm man enough to handle it." He winked at her.

"We're all going to get pedicures at the next meeting," Michonne joked.

Rick chuckled.

"Brother Nathaniel," Lawrence read.

"Huh," Rick said. "I guess that means Father Gabriel isn't going to make it this time, and it'll just be me, Daryl, and Abraham."

"James Miller."

" _What?_ " Rick asked.

"Alexandria's own water engineer, Damien Washington," Lawrence announced.

"That can't be right," Rick said.

"And the last slot on the Council will be filled by our power engineer. Jake Wellington."

"There must be some mistake," Rick muttered, loud enough for Lawrence to hear.

"There's no mistake, Rick. All three members of the ballot committee tallied the ballots independently, and they all three got the same results."

[*]

Rick thundered up the stairs of his back porch.

"Slow down!" Daryl called as he followed.

Rick stopped, turned, gripped the railing of his porch, and looked with flashing eyes at Daryl. "We should demand a recount."

"Nah." Daryl came and stood on the other side of Rick. He leaned back against the railing. "C'mon, don't do that. Ain't no one stuffin' ballot boxes."

Rick stood straight up. "How could they not put _either_ you or me on the Council?"

Daryl shrugged. "People want more balance. They got it. Three townies. Three monastery camp. And three prison camp. Five women. Four men."

Rick shook his head. "Tara wasn't even with us in the prison."

"Yeah, but, ya know, she came with us to Alexandria."

"I still don't understand how they could have gotten rid of three of their best fighters! I mean, they kept Carol, but she can't fight after just having a baby. All they have now for warriors are Michonne and Tara!"

"Brother Nathaniel can fight."

"Two engineers, a doctor, a bean counter, a monk, a fisherman..." Rick shook his head. "Do they not know how many times you and I have saved this damn town?"

"We ain't been at war in months. We're growin'. Not just here in Alexandria, but our whole damn world is growin'. New alliances. Trade. Immigration. They're talkin' some kind of Union now. Ain't just 'bout survivin' anymore. Ain't just 'bout fightin'. It's 'bout buildin' for the new world."

"We won't always be at peace. They _need_ us on that Council. They need _me_ to lead it."

"Ya been leadin' these people a long time, Rick. Been leadin' us even longer. Might could use a break."

"I don't need a _break_. What the hell am I supposed to be doing if I'm not leading these people?" He breathed in like he was going to hyperventilate.

"This ain't no time for a mid-life crisis, man," Daryl said. "Yer still sheriff. Yer still needed to stand watch. And think, now ya can go on supply runs, now that no one's worried 'bout losin' ya."

"Gee, thanks, Daryl. That's sweet of you to say."

"Didn't mean it that way." He smiled. "Hell, I'd miss yer ugly mug."

Rick laughed in a short, breathy grunt. Then he shook his head. "Our world is changing, brother. It's moving on _without_ us."

Daryl looked out over the yard toward the reinforced wall that secured Alexandria from a smaller and smaller number of threats, and up and over it to the pale blue sky, where the same sun shined down on all their allies and was at this very moment shining down on his newborn son. "Only if we stand still."

 **THE BEGINNING**


	77. Chapter 77

"Would you quiz me for my Modern History final?" a 10th-grade Grace asked her 9th-grade brother Jack as they sat down at a picnic table in the outdoor courtyard. Their mother had dropped them off at school an hour early on her way to work.

Grace pulled out the assigned reading, which was titled _A Brief History of the First Half of the First Century of the Post-Apocalyptic Age_ by Lawrence T. Wellington, Third Edition. Despite its title, the book was anything but brief, weighing in at 758-pages, not counting the index, table of contents, glossary, and study materials. There were prints of paintings, illustrations, charts, maps, graphs, and other distractions that had been added by editors over the years. "Can you believe the guy who wrote the first edition of this book died just one week after he finished it?" Grace asked her brother. "He was 95 and still writing it. It's amazing he could still think well enough to write at that age."

"Yeah, I know. He actually lived _during_ the history he's writing about," Jack said. "He used to be a monk, and he led the warrior monks in the War Against the Saviors in the Alliance with Alexandria, the Kingdom, and the Hilltop, but you wouldn't know that unless you read the author biography. He doesn't mention himself in the book."

Grace opened the book to the back, which contained a study guide. That had been added to the third edition, when the book became required reading at high schools. "Quiz me," she said.

Jack took the book and turned it toward himself. "When was the PAU formed?"

PAU stood for Post-Apocalyptic Union. It had begun with six communities but today consisted of twenty-seven city-states located in the south east and mid-Atlantic regions of what had once been the United States of America. "7 N.C." These days, people used the New Calendar. Year One was set to correspond with the year of the Outbreak, when the Old World ended and the Post-Apocalyptic World began.

"6 N.C." Jack corrected her.

"I knew that!"

"Who was the first president of the PAU?" Jack asked.

"Easy. Chief Daniel Longhorse."

"What Representative served the most number of years as Speaker of the PAU Congress?"

"Carol Dixon," Grace answered.

"Right. She served five terms as the Representative from Alexandria, and she was the Speaker for four. Who was the first Treasurer of the PAU?" Jack asked.

"Karen Campbell-Longhorse."

"What is Sofie Dixon most famous for?" Jack asked.

"Being Carol and Daryl Dixon's adopted daughter?"

"Seriously? Being somebody's daughter?"

Grace shrugged.

"She served as the PAU's Minister of Agriculture during the famine of 33. Her efforts prevented widespread starvation."

"She also turned down three marriage proposals," Grace said.

"That would be the detail you'd remember," Jack replied with a shake of his head. "What is Brother Stone famous for?"

"Umm...he was a monk and he broke into something?"

Jack read from the study guide, which was written by later editors: "Brother Stone was an expert locksmith and safe cracker who broke his way into the underground bunkers of the old United States government beneath the rubble of the former District of Columbia. There he and his team of explorers found amazing stores of food, firearms, ammunition, and medical supplies that would aid the PAU for months to come. Some twenty top government officials, including the President and Secretary of State of the former United States, had been hidden there at the start of the Outbreak." Jack stopped reading and paraphrased. "But they'd died and turned, and Brother Stone and Michonne Grimes had to kill them all." Jack made a slashing movement with his hand, along with knifing sounds.

"Michonne? What are you talking about?" Grace exclaimed. "Hello? She was an artist! She painted all the portraits of the Founders."

"Well, yeah, she _became_ an artist, but first she was a zombie slayer."

"I didn't know that," Grace said. "I _love_ her portrait of Daryl Dixon, the one where he's got the crossbow in his right hand and a baby tucked in the crook of his left arm. It's so hot."

Jack shook his head.

"I don't get it, though, because the baby's wrapped in a pink blanket and he had a son."

"That baby isn't his son," Jack said. "It's Judith Grimes-Dixon. His daughter-in-law." Jack paged to her short biography in the _Glossary of Important People_ and read: "Judith Grimes was the first baby to be born after the Outbreak and survive to adulthood. She was nicknamed _the mother of light_ after serving six years as the Minister of Energy and greatly expanding the supply of solar and hydraulic power across the Union."

"Oh."

"Now, who developed the vaccine to prevent the turning of the dead?" Jack asked.

"A team of scientists and doctors," Grace answered.

"Consisting of...?"

Grace thought for a moment. "Professor Eugene Porter, Dr. Nadia Wellington, and Dr. Kendra Campbell." After that, it was easier to clear out the remaining hordes of the undead. Getting bit didn't mean a person would turn. There was no more need to amputate legs or arms; stitches would do. There was no more need to burn the dead or shoot them in the head to prevent them from turning. Loved ones could be buried with dignity.

"And what was Dr. Kendra Campbell's husband Ethan famous for?"

"Being Daryl Dixon's godson?" she asked.

"No! I mean, he _was_ , and he was also Chief Daniel's stepson, but what was Ethan Campbell _himself_ famous for?"

Grace shook her head.

"Ethan Campbell was Minister of Forests for the PAU for six years. More importantly, he was also one of the Four Horsemen!"

"The Four what?"

"The Four Horsemen," Jack replied impatiently. "They were the generals who cleared the PAU of the remaining zombie hordes. They also led the Union Forces against the invading Midwestern Confederacy."

"Have you read this book?"

"Parts of it," he admitted. "Hey, I like history."

"I have no idea why we have to know all this," Grace complained.

"Well, you do," Jack said. "If you want to do well on the test. Now, who was Drew Dixon?"

"Daryl Dixon's son."

"My God!" Jack exclaimed. "The whole world does not revolve around Daryl Dixon! Why do you have such a ridiculous crush on some long dead dude?"

She grabbed the book back, flipped through some pages, and turned the color portrait of Daryl Dixon toward him. "Look how hot he is. Tender _and_ masculine."

Jack shook his head. "Drew Dixon was more than Daryl Dixon's son. He was one of the Four Horsemen, along with Ethan Campbell, Black Snake Locklear, and Vicky Locklear."

"It says here," Grace said. "that Daryl Dixon fought alongside his son in the War with the Midwest Confederacy. He was sixty-seven at the time, and still he just kept going. That man was a _machine!_ "

"Forget Daryl Dixon for a second. While the Four Horsemen were fighting back the invaders, who was designing and orchestrating the construction of the Great Wall, which has protected us from invading armies ever since?"

"Ummm..."

"Carl Grimes. He was Chief Architect of the PAU. Now...who was the first female president of the PAU?" Jack asked.

"Sasha Ford!" Grace answered confidently.

"No. That was her mother. It was Sarah Ford."

"Oh yeah."

"What epidemic killed off a tenth of the population in 21?" Jack asked.

"Super Flu," she said confidently.

"Which brings us back to Nadia Wellington. What was her claim to fame, besides eventually helping to develop the vaccine to prevent the turning of the dead?"

"She helped to halt the Super Flu epidemic."

"And after that," Jack said, "the PAU Congress created a Surgeon General's position and gave it to her. She was also married to the guy who wrote this book. Since you're so interested in romance."

"Awwww," Grace said. "That's probably why her chapter is twice as long as it should be."

"Who was Rick Grimes?" Jack asked.

"Daryl Dixon's best friend."

Jack glared at her.

She laughed. "Chief Law Enforcement Officer of the PAU for like...ever."

"For nineteen years," Jack said.

"He was also the artist Michonne's husband and lover. And the father of two of her children."

"That would be what interests you," Jack said. "Wait. Who fathered the other two?"

"They were adopted," Grace replied.

"Oh. Okay. Moving on. Who was Hershel Rhee?"

"I have no idea."

"Probably because he wasn't related to Daryl Dixon," Jack said snidely. "He was the PAU Ambassador who orchestrated the Treaty of Mutual Benefit with the North East Empire in 49."

"I thought that was the Secretary of State, Enid Grimes?"

"She helped draft it, but Hershel Rhee got them to sign. Who was Tom Miller?"

"Who?" Grace asked.

"It was in one of the sidebars."

"I didn't read the sidebars. Those people weren't founders."

"I read some of the sidebars," Jack said.

"Okay, so who _was_ Tom Miller?"

"This is so creepy. He was a killer."

"Weren't they all?" Grace asked. "I mean, those were rough times, in the beginning."

"No, I mean he was a creepy serial killer. He got away with killing five people over twelve years before he was finally caught. They found the first body in Alexandria, buried under a porch, while he was still living there, but all of the evidence pointed to someone else. Then he emigrated to the Hilltop Colony and killed someone there. Then he did it again at the Kingdom. Then the Island Settlement. Then the Latter Day Saints Commune. He just kept moving, supposedly for carpentry jobs, but he was killing people!"

"That _is_ creepy. How did they catch him?"

"Rick Grimes did, when he was Chief Law Enforcement Officer for the PAU. Apparently he got the case wrong in Alexandria, but then developed suspicions after the second murder. He spent years building a case against him. Tom Miller was the first person ever officially executed by the PAU government."

" _Why_ did Tom Miller kill all those people?"

"No one ever found any kind of link between the victims," Jack answered, "except that they were all unmarried men, and none of them were warriors. Theories include self-rage over repressed homosexuality, jealous rivalry over common female love interests, and sociopathic-narcissism - he just wanted to see if he could get away with it. I'm going with the last theory myself."

"Creepy."

"Yeah. Way creepy. Which reminds me. I need to study for my Outdoor Survival final!" Jack closed the book with a slam.

 **[~~END~~]**


End file.
